


Perfect Illusion

by excentrykemuse



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Adoption, Asgard, Father-Son Relationship, M/M, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Salem Witches' Institute (Harry Potter), Secret Identity, Slytherin Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2019-10-11 23:50:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17456630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/excentrykemuse/pseuds/excentrykemuse
Summary: Harry Potter always knew that James Potter wasn't his father ... he'd been named Anthony Howard ("Harry" for short) after his dad, after all.  The only question was ... who was Anthony, Sr.?Tony had fallen in love with the mysterious Lily 15 years before he was abducted in the deserts of Afghanistan.  Now he is determined to find her -- only to discover that although she died just two years after they parted, she left behind a son.Now father and son have to navigate a new connection ... and young Anthony, Jr.'s (Harry's) relationship with the mysterious Loki Odinson, a supposed pureblood who is more than he seems, threatens that.





	1. Part the First

The night was cool. Tony breathed in the smell of sand, a distinct, cold, crisp scent. He’d become used to it over the past several months. It should have frightened him, reminded him of his captivity—but it didn’t. Instead, it soothed his soul. He had come to a realization all those hours working on his suit, before that even—when he was being waterboarded.

Your life was supposed to flash before your eyes, but that’s not what had happened. Instead he had remembered her—remembered Lily. She had been this beautiful young woman he had met during his London Expo back in 1978.

What had surprised Tony was that she hadn’t been a groupie, a journalist, or a scientist in the strict sense of the word. It seemed she had wandered in off the streets of London in her bellbottom jeans and hippie tie dye nearly see through peasant top that hung off of her, hinting at her slim figure underneath. Her long auburn hair, falling in natural curls, slicked down past the small of her back, those strange chords hippies wore around the crown of their heads around her forehead.

She had not been what he was expecting. Lily had been something else and utterly enchanting.

He’d spotted her from the stage. Lily hadn’t been looking at him but at the crowd in confusion, and he had immediately wanted to meet her. He was just twenty-two, she couldn’t be older than that, and he’d informed his personal assistant, a promising young woman named Pepper Potts, that he’d like to meet her.

Tony had honestly thought that Pepper had failed when he was gladhanding investors after two hours when Pepper appeared at his shoulder and smiled. “Excuse me, gentlemen, I need to steal Mr. Stark.”

“I’m not your pimp,” she warned lowly.

“You didn’t find her,” was his only answer as he straightened his tie.

She shifted and flicked her hair. “I didn’t say that. I found her in a corner doing what seemed like advanced mathematics with a colored pencil on a pad of paper with recipes printed on it. I couldn’t make any sense of it, but maybe you will.—Here she is.” They had walked through a curtain and the breathtaking young woman was sitting there, clearly not expecting anyone to come find her. “Lily,” (the young woman looked up where it did seem she was holding some sort of recipe pad and was scribbling away on it—Pepper handed over a lined notebook) “Curtesy of Stark Industries. You shouldn’t have to try to distinguish between your math and ingredients later on.”

“Oh,” she replied in a startled voice with a British accent, taking the book. “Thank you. And no one will mind. I’m the only one who uses it.” Her voice was slightly bitter. “Are you needed?” She looked at Tony. “I can just—stay here or find a corner or—leave.”

Pepper only smiled at her. “I’d like to introduce you to someone. This is Tony Stark, CEO of Stark Industries.”

Lily immediately stood, shifting her two books and pencil, offering her hand. “Mr. Stark. A pleasure. I’m Lily.”

He waited for her to give him a last name, but she didn’t, so he just smiled at her charmingly. “So, you like math?”

She blushed. “Quite. I was trying to work out—”

Well, it was official. Tony was in love as she showed her calculations on his latest weapon system, which hadn’t been explained as it was only an expo and not a board meeting. The two ended up in the corner with a pen Tony had in his jacket pocket and Lily’s red pencil, working out sums together, Tony branching out into quantum physics to Lily’s surprise. She looked at it, quite startled, and he let her take the notebook and just stare at it for a moment. 

“I don’t recognize this.”

His heart sank a little. “You didn’t—?”

“No,” she replied. “I studied Advanced Chemistry to the exclusion of other sciences. If you ever want me to make you a chemical that no one else probably can and not blow up your lab, then I’m your girl.” Lily gave him an impish look. 

His heart did a flip in his chest. He’d never had a thing for British accents before—he’d found them pretentious—but hers made his dress pants tighten.

Quickly, she began writing down a complicated stoichiometry equation and then began to solve it elegantly within a few short steps when it would usually take nearly an entire page in a notebook.

Tony looked at it and smiled. “I see what you mean.” He looked around and only saw his bodyguards. “Would you like dinner?” he asked. “It’s quite late, I know, but we’ve been at this for over two hours, I think.”

“Oh,” she murmured. “I should probably get home. I only went out for a walk—” Lily got to her feet, but he quickly stood with her.

“Let me drive you home, then.”

She smiled at him sadly. “That’s not necessary, Anthony.”—For some reason, she wouldn’t call him “Tony.” She insisted on “Anthony.” (“Names are important,” she told him. “There is power in a name.”)

“Lunch, then, tomorrow. One o’clock. I’m staying at Rose House. I’ll meet you there.” 

Looking over her shoulder as she left, he thought that her gaze was a goodbye, and that she had slipped through his fingers.

All those months ago, when his face was pulled from the water during his initial torture sessions, he could remember that look, the wistfulness of it, how he had wanted to chase after it, but knew that there was something more to her story that he didn’t quite know or understand. 

It had been fourteen years, and no one had compared to Lily Potter. He had loved that woman. He still did. The betrayal of learning she was married didn’t matter. The fact that she had slipped away one day without a word had hurt more than anything and he had spiraled down into his playboy ways, staying away from redheads, not being able to bear it. Still, all over his bedroom (that he slept in when he was not entertaining) were photographs of the two of them all over London.

Having survived being held captive, having created the Iron Man suit, he knew that Lily was all that mattered. He knew that she was probably still married, but unless she had adopted children, she didn’t have any. Whoever her husband was, she had confessed one night through tears that he was sterile and blamed her for the problem which is why she had gone walking in London the night they had met in the first place. Her husband had gone out with his best mate and (she had later found out) lover to get drunk and she just—couldn’t take it.

No, she had never left his thoughts all these years and he wasn’t going to pretend that she had. He had every love letter she had ever sent him, all in a private vault. Perhaps she and her husband had reconciled. Then again, perhaps they had divorced. He hoped for the latter.

As soon as he got off the plane in California, he looked at Pepper and Obadiah. “I need a cheeseburger,” he said, “then I need you to find someone for me.”

“We can do that,” Obadiah said, merrily. “Great to have you back, Tony.”

“Who do we need to find?” Pepper asked, ready to take notes.

“Do you remember Lily from the London Expo of ’78?”

She paused. “The one with the recipe book and the colored pencil. I’d only been on the job a few months.—Tony, it’s been nearly twenty years.”

“It’s time,” he answered. “If one thing being stuck in that godforsaken cave has taught me is that I was a fool to ever let her go.”

Obadiah was looking at him for a long moment. “This is the mystery woman from when you had just taken over the company. There were rumors since you were spending all that time in England, but then it seemed to come to nothing. I thought she was just a bit of tail.”

Tony glared at Obadiah. “Lily was never a bit of tail.—Pepper, when we get back to my house in Malibu, I have all the information I have on her in my personal safe.”

Pepper looked at him for a long second and then nodded.

After happily eating his cheeseburgers in his town car, Tony immediately led Pepper to a bedroom she had never seen, which was filled with pictures of him fifteen years earlier, and then to the safe. “I’ll be looking her up through JARVIS,” he said as he unlocked the safe, which held several keepsakes, a bundle of letters that were on parchment of all things, and then a notebook that had belonged to her and had some of her mathematical equations. There was a small notecard he had compiled once had lost her which had her name, her London Post Office Box, the County she was born, and her birth month and year.

“That’s, Oh Tony,” Pepper sighed as she opened up her portfolio and jotted down the information. “I’m so sorry. It’s like she’s a ghost.”

“When I found out she had a husband, though a lying, cheating sonofabitch of one, it made sense,” he answered with a harsh laugh. “I think he hit her. She would go missing for several weeks at a time—and—would wince when I touched her certain places. I couldn’t prove anything and couldn’t get her to leave.—She was everything, Pepper. I broke when she left. You can take a picture as long as you get it back to me.”

“Okay,” she responded. “She lived in London?”

“The more I thought about it, the more I realized she didn’t. She just somehow happened to be in London when there was the Expo and kept up the charade for as long as we knew each other.”

As soon as Pepper was gone, Tony went over to JARVIS and ran a search on Lily. He hadn’t let himself do this during all the years that she had been gone from his life, but now—after eight exhausting hours he found something, a birth certificate. 

It wasn’t Lily’s.

It belonged to Anthony Howard Potter, child of James Potter and Lily Rachelle Potter, née Evans. He looked at the birthday and—his breath sucked in. July thirty-first, 1980. That left a conception date of October, 1979. The last time he had seen Lily was Christmas Eve of 1979 when she had been physically ill from something she had eaten. It must have been morning sickness—

Within moments JARVIS was running searches for Anthony Howard. He was under the guardianship of Lily’s sister, Petunia Dursley, and was middling at school except in the sciences. The thought brought a smile to Tony’s face. After the age of eleven, all records of him disappeared. There was nothing. 1991 and then nothing.

Frustrated, Tony told the AI to keep looking to try and find something of Anthony Howard, and went to go order Chinese. 

Tony hadn’t even realized he had fallen asleep when JARVIS chirped at him. 

“I think I found him, sir,” JARVIS told him.

Looking up, Tony’s brow arched.

“It appears,” JARVIS continued, “that young Master Anthony does not go by that name. He’s called ‘Harry’—most likely for ‘Howard’.”

“Thank God,” Tony breathed. If he had to go by ‘Howard’ instead of ‘Anthony’ then he was glad the kid had a nickname. The thought of having to use the name ‘Howard’ was just—it made him shiver. Tony, naturally, appreciated the sentiment from Lily, he really did. Of course, he also knew that she idolized the men and women who worked on the Manhattan Project, so it wasn’t so much of a leap for her to name their child of his grandfather who worked on the Manhattan Project. Tony had never confided how much he disliked his father. He didn’t want to ruin their time together.

A photograph from a recent edition of The London Times came up on screen and Tony looked at the face of a young teenager who could have been his copy except for the glasses he was wearing. His breath sucked in and a moment later a photograph of Tony was placed beside him appeared, highlighting the similarities between the two young men.

“Why was he in the paper?”

“It was a puff piece,” JARVIS informed him, “on young men who were worth more than ten million pounds and would be on the most eligible list of bachelors in the next five years. It would appear that young Master Harry was left a fortune by Mr. James Potter.”

Tony blinked. This was certainly a surprise. He took in a deep breath and then just looked at the picture of his son. He needed to call Pepper. He wouldn’t be like Howard—er, Howard Stark—he was going to be a father to Harry. If he still wanted to see his mother’s family, then, of course, that could be arranged, but Tony knew this in his gut. His son belonged with him.

**… … … … …**

Harry knew that James Potter wasn’t his biological father. Aunt Petunia had snapped at Uncle Vernon once that the drunk Potter wasn’t Harry’s father, but instead it was a normal person. Harry wasn’t sure what that meant, but Uncle Vernon looked at him as if he were sizing him up.

“Do you think?”

Aunt Petunia sighed. “Lily never told me exactly who. She just said that Harry was named after him. That’s why he’s called Harry. So there’s no confusion.”

Although Harry wasn’t supposed to ask questions, and he’d had this ground into him since he was a baby and he knew better at the age of four, he hesitantly asked, “What’s my name?”

Pursing her lips, it seemed like Aunt Petunia was going to answer just this once. “Howard. Anthony Howard, Jr. However, you’re called ‘Harry’. You got that, boy?—I keep hoping this Anthony, Sr., whoever he is, will show up on our door.”

“If he’s normal,” Uncle Vernon suggested (they were all sitting at the breakfast table, Dudley stuffing his mouth with eggs Harry had made), “perhaps we should leave a paper trail.”

Aunt Petunia looked thoughtful. “Harry,” she suddenly said, “when’s your next quiz?”

“Numbers?” he asked. “Friday.”

“I expect top marks,” she responded.

That night he was moved into Dudley’s second bedroom. He never cooked again. 

When the letters came just before Harry’s eleventh birthday, it was with disappointment that Aunt Petunia looked at Uncle Vernon.

“Well,” Uncle Vernon said, “this Anthony fellow won’t want him now.”

“He still might,” Aunt Petunia stated carefully. She took hold of a letter and looked Harry in the eye. “When you go to school, you will not tell anyone that you were named for your father. You will say James Potter is your dad. When anyone asks, you will say you don’t know why you were named Anthony Howard. When they ask why you are called Harry, you’re going to say because your mother liked it. Is that understood? If anyone named Anthony Howard approaches you, you will pay attention.”

“Yes, Aunt Petunia,” he answered and she gave him the letter.

Harry read it carefully. “Magic exists?”

“Yes,” she snapped. “Your mother was a witch. James Potter was a wizard. A freak! Anthony, Sr. was normal, got it?”

“Yes, ma’am!”

“Good. Now, your father will probably expect good marks. I know you like science, but I don’t know if they teach science. We must do everything to keep your normal father happy. You got that, boy?”

“Yes’m,” he answered sadly.

As soon as Harry Potter got to the magical world, he found out he was famous. He rather hated it. Anyone who wanted to see his scar, he wrote right off. That included a stuttering ginger top named Ron Weasley on the train before they even got to Hogwarts. 

When the Sorting Hat told him he had the potential to be great, all Harry could think about was that he wanted to be great—for his father. So, he let himself be sorted into Slytherin House. His best mate was Theodore Nott III, who understood the importance of family history, although he seemed occasionally confounded when Harry felt the same way (with no evidence to back it up). 

Sometimes, in the back of his notebooks, Harry would doodle, “Anthony, Jr.”

Unfortunately, during his second year, it was Professor Snape who found one of the doodles.

Harry always partnered with Theo. Draco took to throwing destructive ingredients into Granger’s cauldron, which was always a bit funny, but Harry just bit his lip and tried not to laugh. Because of this, and his love of chemistry, Harry usually managed to pull the top spot for every lesson. He didn’t like to think it was cheating—it really wasn’t—he was just benefiting from pranks—but Harry spent hours in the library, working on his essays, trying to excel. He was looking forward to Arithmancy and Ancient Runes his third year, hoping those would be more mathematically and science oriented.

Snape had him stay after class one day and Harry shared a look with Theo.

“You know,” Snape began. “I am not one of your adoring fans. I believe you are as arrogant as your father, though at least you do not disrupt class by throwing in the incorrect ingredients in other students’ potions.” His black gaze held Harry’s for a long moment. “I do, however, know a bit about James Potter. We went to school together. I know that his father was Fleamont. I know that your mother’s father was Stephen. What, then, does this mean?”

He showed Harry the small doodle he had made on the back of the parchment of his homework.

Harry bit his lip and looked to the side.

“There is no Anthony Potter I or Anthony Potter, Sr.,” Snape further explained. “I am your Head of House. Your safety is my concern—”

“It’s private,” he stated. “It won’t happen again.”

Snape regrouped. “I prefer for my essays to be clean and fresh, but this does mean something. I do not wish to take it up with Headmaster Dumbledore—”

“Don’t,” Harry interrupted. “Anything but that.” He took a deep breath. “Aunt Petunia told me never to tell—until—”

“Until,” Snape pressed.

“Until my father came to claim me. James Potter was unable to—have children. I was named for my real father—Anthony. We don’t know exactly who he is, so we’re waiting. We’ve been waiting for my whole life. I’ve—I’ve been waiting for my dad my whole life.” His voice was nothing more than a whisper.

Snape breathed out and pinched the bridge of his nose. “At least Lily had some sense. I never understood why she married that blasted Potter.” This was said so quietly that Harry almost didn’t hear him. “Is that why you’re called ‘Harry’? Because your father is also ‘Anthony Howard’?”

After a moment, Harry nodded. “Please don’t tell anyone.”

“No,” Snape agreed. “I will keep my ear to the ground, though.—No more doodling on homework.”

“Of course, sir,” Harry agreed readily. “Thank you, sir.”

When he left, he found Theo waiting for him with a few other of his yearmates. “What was that about?” Blaise Zabini asked.

“Er—” Harry began. “He wanted to know who was disrupting Granger’s cauldrons. Obviously, I wasn’t the weak link he thought I was.” He scoffed. “As if I’d ever tell. Watch out in case he goes after one of you next—”

The year passed smoothly and still Harry’s father did not appear. Harry, however, did not give up hope. He would always wish for his father. Sometimes he thought of taking out an ad in The London Times, but he thought that would be a bit much. Still, he had more than enough money. 

At this point he could only conclude one of two things. One. Anthony Howard, Sr. didn’t know that Harry existed. This was the option he was going to go with. Two. Anthony Howard, Sr. didn’t want him. That just wasn’t a viable option. Harry wouldn’t accept it. He would never accept it.

He liked to think that his mother would only be with someone if she loved him—and if he loved her back. Why she would stay with James Potter then was confusing, but Harry didn’t think about it. The complexities of his mother’s marriage and affair were something he might never understand. Perhaps, next time he was in Gringotts, he would find a journal written by her.

Of course, when the time came, Sirius Black had to be out and on the run. 

Harry received a long letter from Professor Snape about how Sirius Black had been James Potter’s best friend, and how Snape didn’t know if Black knew if Harry wasn’t Potter’s son or not. This left a rather sinking feeling in Harry’s gut, but now he knew to be extra cautious.

This year he was spending his weekend where he went to Diagon Alley with the Malfoys. 

The end of the previous school term had been rather—disquieting. All throughout the year students kept on being petrified, Harry had heard a strange voice in the wall, and then Ginny Weasley of all people had been abducted and then killed by the Heir of Slytherin. No one had yet to actually find the body.

He'd asked for time alone in his Gringotts vault. “I want to see if I can find an old journal for around the time I was born,” he explained to Lady Malfoy. “My aunt talked about it once, and I thought I’d try to find it.”

“Of course,” she replied. “Take all the time you need. I’ll just have Lord Malfoy wait in the cart in case you need anything.”

It was easier said than done. Harry opened trunk after trunk and found nothing of his mother’s—until he came across what appeared to be a love letter. There was only one and it seemed to be on expensive stationary. It was signed, “Tony.”

He smiled to himself and he pressed it back into the book of poetry where he found it. Then something fluttered out of the pages. It was a picture of his mum, dressed like a hippie, and a man in jeans and a t-shirt, a cleanshaven face and messy black hair just like his. He looked the spitting image of Harry except for his brown eyes. They were sitting on the steps of some building, Lily snuggled against him with his arm around her and their fingers entangled. It sucked the air out of Harry’s lungs. He turned it over and saw, written in pencil, “Lily and Tony, 1979.” 

They were definitely dressed like Muggles. It was all the proof he needed. His mother had been in love with another man—and he was a Muggle. And he was Tony. Anthony. Anthony Howard. 

Harry slipped the picture back into the book. He held it close to his chest, swearing to always keep it close.

When he got back into the cart, he looked over to Lucius Malfoy. “Can I trust you with a secret? I need to know something—and you’re a father. I need to ask a father.”

Lord Malfoy regarded him. “I will do everything I can to guide you.”

“If you had a son—whose mother was not your wife—would you do everything you could to find him? It’s just, I can’t find my father. I just know I was named after him. Anthony Howard.”

For a moment, something ticked at Lord Malfoy’s temple, but then his forehead smoothed as the question continued. “I would do everything in my power, Mr. Potter, to see that my son was happy and healthy—and I would want him back with me, though not to his detriment, of course. I would love him too much to do that.”

“Of course,” Harry murmured. “But it would not be to my detriment.”

“Then, if I were your father, I would fight for you.” He paused. “I am here, Mr. Potter, if you need more guidance. You are the friend of my son. I know you have never had a father, although you seem to have a phantom of one.”

“Thank you, Lord Malfoy,” Harry whispered, the cart starting up again. 

When they were back in the sunshine, Lord Malfoy turned to Harry. “You should perhaps know, Mr. Potter, that Sirius Black was whispering, ‘He’s at Hogwarts,’ in his sleep before he escaped. You should be on your guard.”

Harry swallowed, not liking this at all. He wanted his father to come and claim him and take him far away. Then again, Tony was probably British, so he’d stay at Hogwarts. He loved Hogwarts, he really did, and he loved his friends. Still, sometimes he wished he could just disappear and become Anthony – Was that too much to ask?

Was it?

**TBC...**


	2. Part the Second

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry learns (through a lawyer and Pepper Potts) that Anthony Sr. has finally come looking for him ... and things start to come together.

Tony was not allowed to leave the country because he had to see a psychiatrist five times a week because—quote—he had PTSD. As if that even existed. He was fine. He wanted to see his son. Couldn’t the woman see that that was more important than talking about his feelings?

So, despite his frustration, he sent Pepper and his personal lawyer, Harvey Specter, to Little Whinging, Surrey, England. 

Harvey was dressed impeccably in one of his suits, his hair slicked back, exuding confidence and charm. Pepper Potts made no secret of only maintaining a professional relationship with him as he had a reputation nearly as bad as Tony’s. 

Still, they were there, in the middle of the day, knocking on Number Four, Privet Drive.

After a moment, a woman with a horse-like neck and a pinched face opened the door. “May I help you?” she asked, taking in the two well-dressed people before her.

“Mrs. Dursley?” Harvey asked, taking out his card. “I am Harvey Specter with Pearson Hardman and this is Miss Potts. We represent Tony Stark—”

“Tony?” she asked quickly. “As in Anthony?”

“Quite, Mrs. Dursley,” he answered, calm but confused.

Mrs. Dursley took his card and gave it a quick look, her beady blue eyes soaking it in hungrily. “Come in,” she said politely, opening the door, the card still clutched in her hand. “You must excuse us. My husband is at work and my son is away at Smeltings. And Harry—that’s Anthony Howard, of course—is at his private boarding school in Scotland. We’re so terribly proud of him. He’s quite a credit to my sister Lily.” Petunia took a deep breath and showed them into the living room. “May I get you some tea? Coffee?” She looked between the two of them.

“Coffee would be wonderful,” Pepper stated kindly, “unless you would rather prefer English tea, Mr. Specter?”

“I’m a coffee man, myself,” he disagreed. “Thank you, Mrs. Dursley.”

When she had left the room, Harvey unbuttoned his suit jacket and looked at Pepper. “She seemed to know we were coming.”

“Perhaps she knew of the affair?” Pepper suggested. “That Harry was named for his father? Lily Potter did die when he was an infant so there might not have been time to tell her sister as much information as she might have liked.”

They waited a few more minutes in silence before Mrs. Dursley came back in with the coffee. The card had disappeared. With the experience of a seasoned hostess, she poured three cups and offered them cream and sugar.

After a moment where silence covered them, Harvey Specter stated, “Mr. Stark was—acquainted with your sister, Mrs. Lily Potter—”

“You mean that he is the Anthony Howard she had an affair with,” Mrs. Dursley interrupted, her voice a little terse. “She told me one night when she was seven months pregnant and had to get away when she found her husband with his—lover.” She sneered out the word, clearly not approving. “I always thought Potter was too close to his best man, though I hardly knew Black.”

“Anthony Edward,” Harvey corrected, “And, yes,” Harvey answered without missing a beat. “Mr. Stark accepted that his affair with Mrs. Potter was over in 1979 but through recent life-altering events decided to try and find Mrs. Potter again and learned of her death—and of Harry.”

Mrs. Dursley put down her cup. “Let’s cut to the chase. What does Mr. Stark want?”

“Pending a DNA test, he wants custody of Harry. He is willing to allow visitation and will even discuss joint custody if that is absolutely necessary given that you raised him.”

“We don’t want joint custody,” she stated in certainty, shaking her head firmly. “Dudley and Harry might want to meet up over the summer for a week or so, so I won’t object to that.—I insist that Harry have his own lawyer.” It was clear that she had thought about this. “His mother—and stepfather—belonged to a secret society not unlike the Freemasons. His interests must be protected.” She pursed her lips in annoyance. “I’m afraid it cannot be avoided, as much as it is an—inconvenience.”

“We will of course pay—”

“That is generous,” Mrs. Dursley stated, sounding surprised. “You must understand that Harry has been waiting for this day for nearly ten years.” She looked at him accusingly. “We had nothing to go on but the name ‘Anthony Howard.’”

This time Pepper spoke up. “If Mr. Stark had any idea—”

Mrs. Dursley looked like she was sucking on lemons. “Of course,” she conceded. “Harry goes to school in Scotland, as I said. I should be able to get to Edinburgh tomorrow with a lawyer. Would that be appropriate? Then we’ll see about getting Harry leave over the weekend. I understand he’s friends with Lord Malfoy’s son, so we can always appeal to him as he’s on the Board of Governors.”

Harvey and Pepper exchanged a confused look.

“It sounds like a prison.”

Mrs. Dursley laughed. “It’s not that. It’s only, we’re not welcome. I have few rights, even as Harry’s guardian. When he turned eleven, Harry was appointed a special guardian within the society and I’m not privy to even know this person’s identity.—I understand it’s different in America.” She set down her cup and looked at the clock. It was half past two. “If I leave now, I think I can get a competent lawyer by five.”

“Would you like me to accompany you, Mrs. Dursley?” Harvey asked after a long moment, still slightly confused. He liked to think himself unflappable, but this was just plain peculiar. He had to get back on even footing.

“That won’t be necessary. Call here, night or day, when you’ve checked into your hotel so I can check in as well tomorrow.”

“We’ll cover the hotel costs,” Pepper stated. “This is very important to Mr. Stark. The only reason he’s not here is because his doctors won’t let him after he was held prisoner.”

Mrs. Dursley looked confused. “Mr. Stark was held prisoner?”

Harvey and Pepper exchanged a look. “Yes, for three months, by terrorists in Afghanistan. They were forcing him to build a bomb. He’s CEO of Stark Industries.”

Shrugging, Mrs. Dursley began to collect their cups. “I’ve never heard of it. I wonder how he and Lily met—not that it matters, I suppose. Lily and I were never close.”

She saw them out and Harvey and Pepper looked at each other as they went to their car. “That was—peculiar,” Harvey admitted. “I never thought I’d meet anyone who didn’t want a payout for looking after someone else’s child for thirteen years.”

Pepper shrugged. “Let’s take it as a blessing and deal with this secret society as we have to. I wish she’d told us the name.”

“Secret societies are never good, whatever the name,” Harvey said darkly. “They have obscure rules and don’t like any interference.”

  
… … … … …  


Petunia dressed in her roomiest dress and put a scarf over her head to hide her hair, hoping she looked vaguely magical. She left a note on the fridge and so took the tube to London and, from memory, found The Leaky Cauldron from sheer force of will. Managing to charm Tom the Bartender into tapping the sequence for her to get in, she went and found Barnaby & Co. Lily had an old card with the name on it, so it must have been that dratted Potter’s lawyer.

Walking in, Petunia went up to the receptionist.

“I don’t have an appointment,” she stated. “However, I am the aunt of Harry Potter—that is, Anthony Howard Potter—and this is an emergency. I need to see a lawyer this instant.”

The secretary looked up, shocked. “They’re called law wizards.”

“I don’t care what they’re called. This is a custody case.” She held her head high and stared the—freak—down. 

Immediately, the woman picked up the phone and whispered something into it and showed her into a back office that was made of pine wood. It had an old wizard with a clipped gray beard and orange robes sitting behind the desk. “I am Barnabus Barnaby III,” he introduced, taking her hand and lifting it to below his lips before releasing it. “You say this is a custody case about the Boy-Who-Lived?”

“Who?” she asked, looking at the man as he offered her a seat.

“Harry Potter,” he clarified.

“Yes,” she explained. “This is covered by attorney-client privilege?”

“You must pay me first. Magical law.”

She grumbled to herself and wrote him a cheque for 100 pounds sterling, which made him chuckle. “Thank you, Madam. What is the problem?”

“It’s not a problem,” she told him. “My sister, Lily Potter, had an affair, and the child wasn’t James Potter’s. Potter couldn’t—he was incapable—well.” She lifted her nose. “Harry’s father has finally come looking for him—thank God—and now wants to claim custody. The problem is he’s a Muggle and we need a Magical,” (she barely got the word out) “lawyer on our side. Harry has wanted this since he can remember. I want this. This needs to go smoothly.”

“So,” Barnaby III stated, “you’re hiring me as Mr. Potter’s lawyer to facilitate this transfer of legal custody? I will need to meet with Mr. Potter, talk with him, and I will bring our half-blood associate with me to facilitate speaking with Muggles.” He sniffed. “Our fees—”

“Paid. Gall-thingies mean nothing to me. We’re meeting them in Edinburgh tonight or tomorrow and we need to get Harry out of Hogwarts for DNA testing.”

“DNA,” he stated carefully, clearly not understanding. Of course. Freaks were probably stupid as well as—freakish.

“Blood,” she answered, trying not to roll her eyes. “It’s how we test blood connections.”

“I see. I will require our form of blood testing. You understand. The wizarding world won’t take this lying down.” His voice was even, measured, professional. She appreciated that. Petunia didn’t need a fight.

“The wizarding world won’t know,” Petunia stated back harshly. “From what I can tell, Harry’s father is American, and he will hopefully take him back to America where Harry can forget about his scar, which he says causes him more trouble than anything else. I know he’s in the papers. People bow to him in the street! If he’s Anthony Stark, Jr. then he will have none of that.”

“Quite,” the lawyer answered stiffly. “I will submit the petition for young Mr. Potter to have the weekend off for family purposes as his law-wizard. I will need your signature, Mrs. Dursley. Where will you be taking him?”

“Edinburgh.”

“Edinburgh, then.—As a Muggle, you cannot collect him yourself, but if you write a letter to Mr. Potter to let him know that I am working on your behalf, then that should put him at ease.” He slid her some parchment and a quill. 

Petunia looked at it with wide eyes, and took a pen from her purse. Quill her—behind. Thinking of the wording and how best to put her nephew at ease, Petunia slowly began writing a letter saying that Anthony Stark had found them and that it was time to begin the process of proving their relationship and then the next necessary steps. 

With that done, Petunia left satisfied.

… … … … …  


It was a Friday afternoon when Harry was called into Professor Snape’s office. An older wizard and a young wizard in a striped suit were waiting for him. He looked around the room and Professor Snape said, looking through the parchments, “Everything seems to be in order,” before stating to Harry, “you will get you things for the weekend. Your aunt requests your presence for a family emergency.”

“Is someone hurt?” he asked in shock, suddenly worried. His mind turned to Dudley. He wasn’t particularly fond of the idiot, but he was his only cousin.

“Nothing like that,” the older wizard responded. “I am Barnaby Barnabus III. This should explain everything.” He held out a piece of parchment and Harry took it.

When he read it, he couldn’t believe it. It was—incredible. He looked up between the two wizards with tears in his eyes. “He wants me? Anthony” he looked down “Stark wants me?”

“Very much from what we can tell. Now, young man, how do you feel like side-Apparating to Edinburgh after you pack your bag?”

Harry handed back the letter and then quickly jogged out of the office and changed into his casual clothes. Next, he grabbed a few changes of clothing and some underwear, his homework, and then, waving to his friends, he went back to the office.

He’d never been to Edinburgh before. It was wonderful. There were so many people—not like London. It was more laid back, but he let the young lawyer (“David”) lead him forward. 

Before he saw anyone, he was taken to a lab where his blood was drawn several times (for both “them” and “us”, Barnaby III explained) and then he was taken to a hotel. 

Aunt Petunia was waiting for him, looking him over and then with a nod, took him up to a conference room where he met Harvey Specter and Pepper Potts. Pepper sucked in her breath when she saw him, but didn’t make a comment. 

“Mr. Potter,” Mr. Specter began, but Harry cut him off.

“I’ve never liked that name.”

“Never?” Miss Potts asked.

“It’s not mine,” he told her carefully. “I’ve known since I was four. From what I can tell, I wasn’t even adopted by James Potter.”

At this, Barnaby III sat down and looked at Harry directly in the eye. In low tones, probably aided by magic so no one else could hear, he asked, “Are you aware, Master Harry, that if it’s proven that you are in fact Tony Stark’s son, you will forfeit the entire Potter fortune, including heirlooms—”

“All heirlooms?” Harry checked, thinking of the invisibility cloak.

“Yes, Master Harry, all heirlooms.”

“What if a potential heirloom,” he began carefully, “was given to a third party and then given to me.”

“Then it’s yours,” he answered and Harry immediately relaxed. “That doesn’t mean you can start giving away heirlooms now and expect them to come back to you. That’s not how it works.”

“Understood,” he replied. “Do I get to keep Mum’s stuff? It’s only, I found this book, with this letter and a photograph from—well—Tony.” Harry felt a little meepish and didn’t say anything else until—”There might be more like it.”

“Anything belonging to Lily Potter belongs to you,” Barnaby III told him perfunctorily. “However, if our calculations are correct, you’re worth over 13 million in pounds sterling. Are you ready to give that up?”

Harry looked up into his eyes and answered, quite firmly, “Yes.”

“Very good,” he replied. “It hasn’t come to that. But I wanted to let you know where we stand.” He placed a withered hand on his shoulder and they turned toward the Muggles who were staring at him in confusion. Clearly they had never been around magic and probably weren’t sure what had happened.

“Master Harry,” Mr. Specter said carefully, clearing his throat, “there’s some housekeeping we should go through. Would you like to remain Anthony Howard Potter?”

“No,” he answered. “I’d like to drop the ‘Potter’.”

“So Anthony Stark, Jr.”

“Yes.”

Mr. Specter made a note. “Harry for short.”

Harry shrugged. “I like it better than Howard. Who is ‘Howard’ if Tony is ‘Anthony Edward’?”

“Howard Stark is your grandfather,” Mr. Specter replied. “He also worked on the Manhattan Project. Your mother, I understand it, highly regarded the Manhattan Project.” He looked at Miss Potts for confirmation.

She nodded.

Harry bit his lip. “What’s that?”

Barnaby Barnabus III chuckled. “I imagine it’s American.” Muggle, he meant. Certainly Muggle.

“It was the top-secret project during the Second World War that invented the Atomic Bomb that, essentially, ended the war,” Pepper Potts told him carefully, clearly a little annoyed that he didn’t know. “Your grandfather was a great inventor, an innovator of his times—”

“No need to lecture the boy,” Petunia strangely put in. “He’s been blowing things up in labs since he was in nine and broke into the chemicals cabinet.” She sniffed and placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Clearly the propensity for controlled destruction was inherited.”

“School.” Harvey stated quickly before an argument could break out.

At this Barnaby III passed Harry several pamphlets about Salem. “A representative from MACUSA will speak to Mr. Stark and explain everything about our world, Master Harry. You need not have any worries.”

“Is this the only school?”

“It is the most prestigious and with your marks in—well, you are aware of your academic accomplishments. Your electives are also looking quite promising.” 

A small half-grin curled on Harry’s face. He was quite aware how well he was doing in Arithmancy. They were talking about moving him to OWL level next year after tutoring him after Yule Break as he was moving so quickly.

“They accept mid-year transfers? It’s only I’m skipping a year in—er—one of my courses and I don’t want to get bored.”

“I’m sure they will be able to accommodate you,” Barnaby III promised. 

Mr. Specter and Miss Potts glanced at each other and Mr. Specter took down some notes. “So, you are interested in transferring and there will be someone who will come to speak to Mr. Stark about the program and this ‘Secret Society’.”

“Indeed,” David finally spoke up. His adams apple bobbed. “You understand that the law requires us to keep silent except within our families.”

Aunt Petunia snorted. “I remember Lily and the Snape boy and their—unnaturalness—”

Barnaby III cleared his throat but Harry just looked at his aunt.

“Professor Snape knew Mum?” Harry asked in confusion.

“Severus Snape? They were best friends,” Aunt Petunia told him. “He was in love with her since before they went off to Hogwarts. Then, when they were about sixteen, they stopped talking and she started dating James Potter to spite him. I told her not to marry Potter, that anyone would be better, but she never listened to me about anything,” she scoffed, clearly put out.

Harry ruminated over this and finally whispered, “Is there anything else? I’d like to go to bed or go watch a film? There are no televisions at school.”

“There’s pay-per-view in your room,” Miss Potts told him as if she were reciting something. What ws her problem? “Watch whatever you like, Harry. I realize this must be overwhelming and stressful for you. I’m Tony’s personal assistant so—if you need anything—I’m in room 202. I’m here night or day.” Her tone suggested, however, that she wished he would just leave her alone.

Harry turned to Barnaby Barnabus III. “What room are you in?” he murmured.

“I’m back at my office,” he replied quietly.

A lump formed in Harry’s throat at the thought of being alone with these Muggles.

Still, he rallied. Harry stood and looked at everyone. He shook everyone’s hand in turn and took his room key and then left with his satchel and fought the urge to glance back. 

He collapsed on the bed and didn’t even have time to grab the remote. He was asleep in his clothes within a matter of seconds and only woke up when his stomach rumbled the next morning. Looking at the time, he saw it was seven, so he took a quick shower and got changed before going down to breakfast, realizing it was Saturday so he really shouldn’t be up this early.

He found Harvey Specter sitting at a table with his aunt. 

He was dressed casually in jeans and a Henley. “Oh good,” Harry said, “we’re all dressed casually. I was so glad to take off my school uniform a whole two hours early yesterday.”

“I imagine,” Mr. Specter agreed. “We’re just waiting on the DNA. Then, according to your lawyer, an ambassador from this MACUSA will come and speak to you about the school, and you can decide if you want to transfer or remain here in Scotland. I strongly recommend speaking to Mr. Stark first, though. He might want you closer to Malibu.”

“I know how these great men work. He’d send him to school in New York if he thought it was the best. Massachusetts isn’t that much farther away,” David said as he came up to the table.

“There are good schools in California,” Harvey Specter argued. “Competitive Schools. He’s missed thirteen years of Harry’s life—”

“I’m right here,” Harry griped. “I will go to Salem or I will stay here. If my schooling is interrupted and I can’t become an Unspeakable—”

“A what?” Harvey asked.

“Then I will be greatly disappointed.” His voice held a menace to it, quiet, subtle, that however would have been recognizable to someone like Harvey.

Petunia looked up and raised an eyebrow. “You could avoid your freakishness—”

“Don’t call it that,” he stated with resignation as if he’d heard it all before. “It’s a simple case of genetics, Aunt Petunia.” He took a bite of his blueberry pancakes and realized they were actually good. “And you will never have to deal with me again in a week.”

“Small wonders. If only Lily had told me her Anthony’s full name.”

The rest of the day was spent waiting. Harry explored Edinburgh with Miss “Call me Pepper” Potts, Pepper taking pictures of him when she remembered she shouldn’t be playing the tourist herself, enjoying fried Mars Bars, and sneaking beer from Pepper when she wasn’t looking (though he suspected she knew and frankly didn’t care). 

He knew Pepper was surprised when a woman came up to him and asked him for his autograph. 

“Fancy seeing the great Harry Potter in Muggle Edinburgh! Aren’t you currently studying at Hogwarts?”

“Watch it,” he warned, “Pepper isn’t one of us.”

She looked over at Pepper, her face falling. “Of course. I’m sorry, Mr. Potter. An autograph?”

“Yeah,” he agreed, taking a scrap of parchment and a self-inking quill. Handing it back, he said cheerfully, “Enjoy your shopping!”

He turned away and walked quickly in the opposite direction.

Pepper was walking hurriedly behind him. “Does that happen often?”

“More often than you think. I really want to get out of this country,” he admitted. “What with Sirius Black being James Potter’s best friend and going after Hogwarts—” Harry sighed. “I’m sick of England. I’ve been sick of it since before I went off to school.”

She squeezed his shoulder, the first positive thing she’d done since they’d met. “Well, then, let’s see what we can do about that.—Tony, though, is famous in his own right.”

“But it won’t be for something as stupid as—” He sighed. “I’ve been famous since my parents died. Well, Mum and James. For surviving. They call me The-Boy-Who-Lived. It sucks. I have major political capital in this country.” Wanting to change the subject, he asked. “I have a picture of Tony from when Mum knew him. I look just like him. Do I still look like him?”

“You’re an exact copy. I’d be really surprised if the DNA came back negative.”

“Well then,” he answered with a skip of his step. “I guess it’s only a matter of time.”

… … … … …  


Tony was the first one to get the DNA results. JARVIS informed him that they had come in and he looked over at the screen immediately at the two strands. It was a test that matched paternity and it was a perfect match. Harry was his son. He had a son.

He had been prepared for this, but suddenly seeing the actual evidence was absolutely frightening.

Immediately taking out his STARKphone, he flipped it open and dialed the number he had been given in case this happened, when it happened.

“Hello, this is Tony Stark,” he told the woman on the other end of the line. “I understand you’ve been expecting my call.”

“Oh, yes,” she purred. “You had the paternity case. I take it that it came back positive? We’re waiting for confirmation from the law—lawyers. Please hold.”

An appointment for the next day was set up at his house. Little did Tony know that he would soon learn about the world of Magic and that his son—that his Lily—were wizards.

… … … … …

Harry went back to Hogwarts in time for Monday breakfast. He knew it was only a formality. He would be withdrawn from Hogwarts by Wednesday and on a plane to Malibu later that day. He packed everything away during lunch (he wasn’t that hungry) and he wanted to do this in the relative privacy he could get.

Everyone wanted to know where he had gone, but he would just smile and shrug and go on his way.

Barnaby Barnabus III showed up Tuesday during lunch with a court order that he be released from Hogwarts Custody and that he was officially withdrawn from the school, given his enrollment in Salem Academy of Witchcraft.

Dumbledore looked over the paperwork and then noticed that “it has not been signed by his nearest blood relation.”

“It has,” Barnaby III replied; Harry stood in the corner. “His or her name is merely obstructed by magic. I have a court order that Master Harry’s identity and relations remain confidential given his celebrity status.”

“Quite,” Dumbledore answered before signing the papers. Looking up, he stated, “I’m sorry to see you leave, my boy. You had a promising future.”

“I’ll have it elsewhere,” he replied. 

“Though I cannot fathom Mrs. Dursley’s reasons—”

“You need not fathom them at all,” Barnaby III replied. “Master Harry, it is time that we go. You have your personal affects?”

He patted his satchel, which contained his trunk. He was once again wearing black jeans, trainers, and a Slytherin shirt.

“Come.”

They flooed to London and then took a Muggle cab to a private airport. A private jet was waiting for them with Harvey Specter waiting along with Miss Potts. 

“You are legally Anthony Stark, Jr.,” Barnaby III explained. “We had it expedited. Your father suggested—if you wanted it, and only then—you might want to be called ‘Anton’ so as to distance yourself from your past.”

“No,” Harry replied. “I’ve been scribbling ‘Anthony, Jr.’ on my notebooks for years. That’s how I think of myself—I’ve—I’m—” He was suddenly lost for words.

“Very well, Mr. Stark,” Barnaby III replied. “I release you to your temporary guardians.”

Harry got out of the cab and looked at the two Muggles before climbing onto the plane. He knew his life was about to change. He just didn’t know how much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I am currently in the process of writing "Perfect Illusion" and "Monster in Me" (i.e. they're not completed yet), I will be staggering the releases of my chaptered fics so that I have time to write. 
> 
> SAT 26 JAN: "Winter's Light", chapter 10 of 12  
> WED 30 JAN: "Hide Me Quiet", chapter 14 of 15  
> SAT 02 FEB: " Monster in Me", chapter 6  
> WED 6 FEB: "Perfect Illusion", chapter 3


	3. Part the Third

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Tony finally meet ... (Loki appears next chapter)

Tony always thought that Lily was the love of his life.

Now he had to seriously evaluate that.—for a child, a child could be loved even more than a great love like he had once had.

At first he didn’t realize that the young man being led in by Pepper was his son. Yes, he’d seen pictures and, yes, he looked almost like an exact copy like Tony at that age except for the glasses and Lily’s green eyes, but he was the most beautiful creature Tony had ever seen. And that wasn’t him being vain.

In that moment he wanted to protect him, love him, and—he was a father. It was as simple as that. It was absolutely wonderful and horrifying all wrapped up in one. He was responsible for this kid, for his well being, and money just frankly wasn’t going to do that. Howard had thrown money at him, and that hadn’t made him happy. He’d been fucking miserable. No, this kid needed love. And Tony already loved him with all his heart and they hadn’t said a word to each other.

But then Pepper interrupted his thoughts.

“Tony,” she said with a strained smile. “This is Harry, your son.” Strangely, the kid had an owl with him.

It was like a douse of cold water had been shoved over his head, bringing him back to reality. Still, he managed a smile and when Harry offered his hand, he quickly enveloped him in a hug. “Is this okay?” he asked, but Harry only snuggled closer. 

“Yeah,” he murmured back.

Petting his hair and resting his chin on top of Harry’s head, Tony could feel tears coming to his eyes. This was a piece of him—this was a piece of Lily—this was the product of their love and there was nothing more precious. How could there be?

After several long moments, Harry pulled away. “I’ve been waiting to meet you, Mr. Stark, since I was four years old.”

Tony smiled at him sadly. “I’m sorry it took me so long,” he said sincerely. “And it’s ‘Tony’ or ‘Dad’ if you ever decide you want to call me that. Can I call you ‘Harry’? Is that what you prefer?”

He shrugged with one shoulder. “I’ve thought of myself as ‘Anthony, Jr,’ for years. ‘Harry’ was for the public.”

“Well, then,” he answered with a half grin. “That settles that then.”

He ran his hand through Harry’s hair, trying to tell himself not to move too quickly, that though Harry was his son that they had only just met, and indicated the sofa in the corner. “Now,” he said as they sat down. “I don’t know if you’re hungry. They’ve got some great pizza a few towns over we can have delivered—not as good as this little place in New York, but it will do—or there’s Chinese. We could even go out to this great Italian place—” (Harry’s eyes lit up) “Italian it is.” He glanced at Pepper before turning his attention back to Harry. And, God, wasn’t it scary how much he looked like Tony when he was that age? “Do you only have that one bag?”

“Er,” he moved closer so only Tony could hear. “There’s a trunk in it.”

A little surprised, he answered, “Right you are! Why don’t you sort that out and I’ll let Happy know we’re going out? As tacky as this sounds, your room has your name on it, at least for now, and—Pepper—do you mind taking one of the cars back? I think this is a great time for father-son bonding.”

“Of course,” she agreed, her eyes squinting. A look of annoyance passed over her face but it was soon gone. She got out some papers and set them down. “Those are for you, proving that Anthony, Jr. is yours. I’ve got duplicates and his lawyer back in London has copies as well.”

Harry had already gone off looking for his room.

“Have you seen that kid’s grades?” Tony asked, slipping into father mode. “He aces math and science. “And—I’m not sure what to call it.” Defense Against the Dark Arts really didn’t translate into the No-Maj world. It turned out America was very strict about wizards intermarrying with No-Majes so there were rarely home visits, but given that Lily was British, they weren’t at all surprised. “He wants to go into this specialized field of top-secret government research. Let me say, he’s got the grades to pull it off.”

“They wouldn’t let us see his test results. We just knew that he was part of a secret society.”

Yes, that was one way of putting it. “It will do him good,” Tony confided. “He’s being nurtured in a way I can’t give him. Of course, I’m going to have to eventually talk to him about the company. Maybe give him some summer courses on mechanics and engineering or get him into my lab.”

“Aren’t you taking this well? It’s like you were born to be a father.” There was a hint of something in her voice, not jealousy per say, wariness with something added to it? Tony really couldn’t pinpoint it.

A dark look passed over Tony’s face. “If only I’d known earlier. I could have given him a good life.”

“From what I can tell,” Pepper soothed, her voice almost a purr, “despite having an aunt who didn’t want to hold onto him, he had a good life. I have a private investigator on it, but Anthony, Jr. seems to have wanted for nothing.”

Tony hummed. “That’s something.”

Harry poked his head back into the room and Tony saw him and gestured him in. “There he is! Did you like your room? I didn’t decorate it that much because I wasn’t sure what your style was, but say the word and we’ll get you whatever you want. I understand there’s this alley in L.A.—” He glanced over to see that Pepper had already gone, but decided to check. “JARVIS, where’s Pepper?”

JARVIS immediately answered, and strangely Harry didn’t react to him at all. “Miss Potts is currently entering the garage.”

“Good,” he answered. “We can talk freely.—You don’t seem surprised by my AI.”

Harry shook his head. “No. Wizards can misdirect their voices. I taught myself last year although it’s sixth year magic.” He blushed, which looked utterly adorable. 

“And you’re two months into your third year?” Tony checked.

Nodding, Harry bit his lip and looked down.

“Well, there’s a shopping center in L.A. I have directions. We can get you magical pictures and whatever else you want—wizarding clothes. I understand you have a different sense of fashion.” And wasn’t that something to learn about?

“We do,” Harry agreed after a moment. “You’d let me wear robes and pureblood black—here?”

Tony was confused. “Why wouldn’t I? You’re my son. You’re a wizard. I want you to feel at home.” It seemed obvious.

“I—” He paused. “My house at Hogwarts was filled primarily of purebloods. I dress like a pureblood mainly even though I’m, well, a half-blood. I understand that America is comprised mostly of purebloods so—”

“Then dress like a pureblood,” Tony said as he stood up. “I don’t want you to be ashamed of who you are, never that, but if you feel more at home that way, then, by all means.”

Harry relaxed (Tony hadn’t realized he had been slightly tense) and smiled.

The father-son duo went down to the garage where Happy was waiting for them and they went to a restaurant in Malibu. Tony proudly strode in the front doors, pressing lightly between Harry’s shoulders to guide him, and they were instantly given a table despite the line and the fact they were both dressed casually.

“So,” Tony began. “You have an owl. That’s unusual.”

“She carries mail,” Harry informed him. “She’s more than just that, though, to me. Hedwig is my friend. She’s my familiar.”

Tony paused. “I didn’t realize that actually existed.”

“Yeah,” Harry admitted. “Not all owls, cats, toads, whatever are familiars, but Hedwig is mine.” He gave Tony a small smile. “It’s not going to be a problem?” Harry asked worriedly.

“No,” Tony reassured. “We’ll make it work. You have a window and you’ll be in charge of cleaning up after him—”

“Her.” The voice correcting him was soft, not judging.

“Her,” Tony amended. “And I assume she’ll go to Salem with you? You start Monday, by the way. We need to go to L.A. to get your uniform and whatever else you need. I have a list of books and other things.”

Harry nodded. “What’s Stark Industries?” he asked.

“We’re a Defense Company,” he answered, “for the U.S. Military. Some of our weapons seem to have gotten into the wrong hands, however, so I need to launch an investigation.” Tony was pensive for a moment. “When you’re more settled, I wanted to talk to you about the company. It’s your legacy. Science and math are a huge part of it along with mechanics. I spend a great deal of time inventing weapons and other items for the government and, over the next few years, I’d like you to consider joining the company.”

Sitting there stunned, Harry admitted, “I want to be an Unspeakable.”

“I know,” Tony said, “and I fully support that. However, this is your legacy. This is all for you. For future generations.”

He sat there for a long moment and then nodded. “We only sell to the military.”

“Yes,” Tony promised. “If you want, I can show you Headquarters over the weekend in New York. Screw the doctors. It’s in the same country.” He shrugged.

“I’ll—” Harry paused, looking away and putting down his fork from his chicken parmesan. “I’ll think about it.”

“No pressure,” Tony promised. “If you want to leave it until Christmas or next summer, then I perfectly understand.” When Harry continued to look away, Tony reached out with his good hand and rested it on top of Harry’s. “What is it? I didn’t mean to pressure you. I just want to include you in the Stark family.”

Harry turned and his eyes were glistening with tears. “You want me,” he whispered. “You really want me.”

Tony’s heart broke. “Yes,” he agreed. “I really want you.—Now, you’re a bit thin. Eat up. You’re part Italian, so you should enjoy this.”

Laughing, Harry picked his fork up. “I didn’t know that.”

“My mother, Maria, was Italian,” Tony told him. “Not the best mother ever, not really a mother at all, but mine nonetheless.”

The smile that lit Harry’s face was absolutely breathtaking. “Mum’s mum was Irish,” he shared. “Her name was ‘Violet’. Strange, I know. That’s why Mum was ‘Lily’ and my aunt is ‘Petunia.’ Grandfather Stephen was a teacher of fifth form in a factory town. Cokeworth. It’s in Hertfordshire. Aunt Petunia never told me how they met.”

“Lily never told me about your aunt,” Tony admitted with a sad smile. “She never liked to talk about herself except about the future. I know she wanted you, though. She admitted once when we were drinking a bottle of wine over dinner that she’d always wanted children, but hadn’t ever thought of names for them.”

Harry’s face lit up. “Really?”

“Really,” Tony agreed.

“And you? Did you—did you want children?”

Tony paused, knowing he had to be honest with Harry, but wanting to answer the question in such a way that Harry knew that he was wanted. “Not with just anyone,” he admitted. “Lily was the only woman I ever loved. When I found out she was married, I knew it wasn’t a possibility, but when I found out about you—I wanted you. I knew you were mine—in my gut. So, yes, I wanted children, I just didn’t realize it.”

The smile on Harry’s face was worth it. “I wanted you, too,” he whispered. “I found a letter you wrote Mum, begging her to leave James. You said you would sweep her away and take her anywhere she wanted in the world. I thought, when I found it, maybe you would do that with me—and you have. You brought me here.”

“Was England really that bad?” he asked carefully.

“You have no idea,” Harry whispered. He took a sip of his coca-cola.

“Maybe one day you’ll tell me,” Tony pushed carefully. “Unless it’s classified.”

“No. No one else can know outside of our families, but it’s not classified to you. I’m hoping none of it follows me here. I just want to be Anthony Stark, Jr. Is that too much to ask?” His bright green eyes, so like Lily’s and yet so much more beautiful, captured Tony’s gaze.

“No,” Tony promised. “That’s not too much to ask.”

… … … … …  


Harry lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling. Tony—he hated to admit it—was the most brilliant person he had seen his entire life. As soon as Tony had pulled him into a hug, he had prolonged it for as long as possible, glad that the most secret desire of his heart had finally come true. He now had a father. A dad.

It was ridiculous that he should feel this way, he told himself. It was the shock of being in America, of the time change, of finally meeting the man his mother had been in love with. He shouldn’t feel an instant connection. It was almost like—magic.

Still, when he went to sleep, he dreamt of the future, of being wanted, of being loved, of having a family all his own.

… … … … …  


Harry was in the workshop being taught the basics of how to tinker with an engine. “No,” he finally said. “That’s not how you do it.”

Tony looked up at him in surprise. “I thought you didn’t know mechanics or engineering.”

“I don’t,” he answered calmly. “However, I think I could fix this thing in less than an hour.” Leaning over it again, numbers floated over various parts of the engine in his mind and he got down on the floor and slid under the thing with a wrench. 

Tony chuckled. “What do you like to listen to, kid?” he asked.

“Squeeze,” he answered without hesitation and then Tony was telling JARVIS to play just that and Harry was secretly rocking out to 1970s British rock. 

He was unaware when someone entered the lab until there was the sound of voices and someone ordered. “Cut the music!”

“Don’t cut the music, JARVIS!” Harry demanded. “Whoever it is can go outside. I’m working here!”

For a moment there was silence, and then Queen began to play again as Harry continued to work on the engine. It took him less than ten minutes to finish and when he saw the lab was empty, Harry asked the AI where everyone was.

It turned out they were in the Living Room.

Wiping his hands, Harry moved up there and took in an older man with a bald head and a white beard sitting across from Tony. 

“It works like a dream,” he told Tony. “I dare you to say that it doesn’t work twice as well as when it was made. I am that good!”

Tony ruffled his hair, and turned back to the man. “Obadiah, this is my son, Anthony Howard. I’m teaching him the beginnings of mechanics but he thinks he can show his old man a thing or two. Anthony, Jr., my second-in-command, Obadiah Stane.”

Obadiah lifted an eyebrow. “You have a son. I mean, he looks just like you—but—he’s that woman’s child, isn’t he?”

“That woman,” Tony replied dangerously, “has a name. Lily died over thirteen years ago and Anthony, Jr. was left with his aunt.”

Turning back to Tony, he continued what seemed to be their earlier conversation. “As I said, there’s a board meeting tomorrow.”

“Perfect,” Tony replied. “I can show Anthony, Jr. Stark Industries, if you don’t mind, Son. I don’t want to overwhelm you as I know you want to work for Intelligence.”

Harry looked up at him. “You’ve got the wrong branch of the government,” he told him quietly. “They’re not spies. It’s Government Research—sort of. Think the Manhattan Project of our times.” His eyes sparkled, knowing how much his mum loved it and now knowing that his own grandfather had worked on it.

“My son,” Tony bragged, “is a Stark in every way. His testing is off the charts in the sciences and math. I couldn’t be prouder. We’ll just go to the New York shopping district for your things over the weekend and I’ll drive you to school on Sunday.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Harry agreed. “Hopefully we don’t have to wear ties like at Hogwarts. I hate wearing ties.” He shivered. “Just because we’re British does not mean we should always have to wear ties.”

“So this young man is off to school,” Obadiah put in. “New York?”

“Massachusetts,” Harry answered before Tony could. “They’re the sister-school to where I went in Scotland. There’s an entire network across the globe.”

Obadiah simply looked puzzled but didn’t ask.

Tony ruffled Harry’s hair again, and didn’t that feel wonderful? To have a father who actually cared and felt pride in what he did and not as some means to an end? 

“I’m surprised Pepper didn’t tell me about Anthony, Jr.” This was Stane again. “Is that what she was doing in London?”

“Hmm,” Tony agreed, still looking down at Harry before turning to Obadiah. “As soon as I found him, I knew he was mine, but his aunt wouldn’t let him go without DNA proof. She was only being conscientious. They only had the name ‘Anthony, Sr.’ to go by.”

Obadiah was now looking at Harry critically. “Perhaps Anthony, Jr. should sit in on the board meeting. It may be a bit boring for him, but if he’s good with numbers, as you say, and if he is to inherit—”

“No,” Harry responded, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. “I want a break. I was managing the books of my stepfather’s estate since I was eleven with a thirteen million pound fortune. I don’t want to deal with any of that for awhile.”

Both Tony and Obadiah were clearly shocked. Tony, though, wrapped an arm around him. “No numbers then. Numbers only for schoolwork and fun.” Then he looked thoughtful. “We should have that money transferred—”

“I had to renounce it when allowed for my paternity to come into question,” Harry explained, shrugging. “I didn’t want any of my stepfather’s money anyway. One night Aunt Petunia got drunk and admitted that Mum turned up one night when she was pregnant with me with a black eye. I think he was a wife beater.”

“He was,” Tony murmured, running his hand through Harry’s hair. “I suspected as much almost from the beginning.” He leaned over and kissed Harry’s head. “But—none of that. He’s gone and he never got the chance to hurt you.”

“I’ll go in black,” Harry suddenly decided. “I have quite a few outfits in the British style, that way if there are any of us in the area, they’ll be able to pick me out.”

Harry could see that Obadiah was confused, but he frankly didn’t care. He didn’t want him here. He had only a few days with Tony before he was going to Salem, and he’d rather not have them interrupted by this oaf. He may be selfish, but this was his dad. HIS dad. Didn’t the man get that?

They were taking the jet to New York, getting up early in the morning. Harry hadn’t really unpacked and it was easy to get Hedwig into her cage. He dressed casually in Pureblood black, his linen trousers tightfitting and ripped to show see through black mesh underneath. The cotton top was ribbed, the sleeves hanging loose and similarly ripped into long swaths with the same type of material grasping tightly to his skin to show modesty and retain warmth. The final piece of the outfit was a wizarding cross in silver, showing that Harry was a wizard to anyone who looked.

“Is the jewelry a statement?” Tony asked as he got Happy to load the trunk into the car. Harry was carrying Hedwig’s cage. “What is it?”

“The four corners of—you know,” Harry told him. “Air, fire, earth, and water. The circle around it symbolizes eternity. It tells another one of us what we are. It’s for recognition purposes.”

“Oh,” Tony realized. “Clever.”

“I could wear one on my wrist,” Harry continued as they got in the car, “but when I tried one on my first year, I found it uncomfortable. The necklace is easier and more visible. Some shirts come with the design on it, but I just find that tacky. You also can’t switch out crosses then. I have a small collection, as do most—” he glanced toward the front of the car and Tony put up the partition “—wizards.”

Pepper Potts was waiting for them on the plane and she greeted Harry with a terse nod, though she had a bemused expression when she took in his clothes. “We’ve got milkshakes for you, Anthony, Jr., and soda. I think you’re a little young to try and sip off of hard liquor.” Her eyes twinkled.

“You’ve had alcohol, young man?” Tony asked, clearly not minding in the slightest. “Be careful, that’s all I ask. Regular alcohol use at your age can cause brain damage and people can take advantage of you when you’re drunk. If you’d like a small glass of wine, I won’t object.”

“It’s a little early—” Pepper objected. “It’s eight-thirty!”

Tony smirked at her. “You have a glass of champagne.”

“I’m in my thirties.”

“I’ll have a milkshake,” Harry quickly said. “Maybe a Guinness tonight, Tony?” he asked hopefully.

“I don’t see why that can’t be arranged. If you can drink responsibly by the time you go to college—er, university—then that’s only a good thing.”

Pepper raised an eyebrow, as if to challenge that assertion.

Harry glanced between them. “Er—Tony. My education includes University level courses. At the end of my seventh year, I go straight into the workforce unless I choose to pursue a mastery, which I may in—numbers.” He had almost said ‘Arithmancy’ around Pepper, which would have been bad. Very bad.

Looking at Tony, at that knowing and slightly mischievous look in his eyes.

A flight attendant came in and Tony ordered Harry a strawberry milkshake and a bourbon for himself before telling Harry he had cued up Beetlejuice to play for him while he and Pepper got some work out of the way. 

Stark Industries was quite impressive. It mainly consisted of several labs and a boardroom and Harry was allowed to tinker with an old car that someone had in the corner of a basement lab during the board meeting. Harry wasn’t even sure it was supposed to be there, but he didn’t question it. They had a tee shirt waiting for him so he could slip out of his good shirt and all the tools he could want. He didn’t even realize three hours had passed until Tony tapped his foot and Harry climbed out from under the car with a smile on his face and Tony announced it was time for lunch. 

They ended up eating the “best pizza in America,” according to Tony (Pepper had disappeared somewhere—thankfully). 

After shopping for all of their school things, they collapsed in a suite at The Carlton, Harry happy though afraid that Tony would disappear in a puff of smoke. His lifelong dream had finally come true, but he was about to go to Salem, and he was afraid what was going to happen after that. Would his father still want him? Would he have moved on?

It had only been a few days, after all. 

This could have been just a passing fancy to Tony Stark—but, no, Harry reminded himself. He had read the letter Tony had sent his mum before he was born. She would have been about eight months pregnant (not that Tony had known; she had disappeared from his life by then), begging her to leave her husband, promising her the world, promising to love her the way she had deserved to be loved.

If only his mum had left James Potter. Perhaps if Tony had taken her to America, Mum would have been safe from Voldemort—and then Harry would have been born with both his parents.

With those bittersweet thoughts, Harry fell asleep, clutching onto his father’s arm, still afraid he would just disappear by the time Harry woke up.


	4. Part the Fourth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aldric Weathercrest does not even appear in this chapter. He is rather unimportant except as a topic of conversation and for a reason for Harry/Anthony, Jr. to go into Los Angeles. Don’t worry! **The beginning of Harry and Loki’s love story begins his chapter!**

American wizarding fashion was different from British. Purebloods still wore black, of course, and there was the equal lateral cross. Harry’s was more on the formal side, but that really didn’t matter. People didn’t care. As soon as he opened up his mouth and they learned he was British, everything was explained away. However, robes were unheard of. Instead, wizards wore Muggle (No-Maj, Harry. Remember: No-Maj) clothing with a bit of a twist. The colors were more outlandish. The clothes were tighter, the buttons and lapels bigger. In short, wizards looked like caricatures, and Harry rather liked it—once he got used to it. 

At Salem he was known as “Anthony, Jr.” or “Anton.” Explaining “Harry” was just too much work. It felt like he was getting away from his public image, which he rather liked. He hoped Tony wouldn’t mind the fact that he was being called “Anton”, given he had apparently suggested the nickname to begin with. 

He exchanged owls with his father and then—when he got back to Malibu for Yule the first thing he said before he even greeted his father was—“What do you mean you almost died, Tony?”

“Hey, kiddo!” he answered, getting off the couch with a glass of whiskey in his hand. “How do you like the floo?”

Harry turned to it, having forgotten he’d just used it to transport himself from Salem, and stared at his father. “Died, Tony. Died. You can’t go around in metal suits and expect yourself to live. I didn’t even know until this morning! Why didn’t you tell me?”

Tony ran a soothing hand through his hair. “I didn’t want to worry you, Anthony, Jr. Now—do you want me to start calling you ‘Anton’? Because I can do that.”

Pausing, Harry wondered. “No. People just use it to quickly call out my name in the halls,” he answered. “Do you—I never thought—do you think Mum will mind that I’m no longer ‘Harry’?”

“Hey, kiddo,” Tony said, setting down his drink and drawing Harry into a hug, which he reveled in. “I don’t think your mum would mind. You’re my son as much as hers and she named you ‘Anthony’ after me. What do you prefer, kid?”

“Anthony, Jr.,” Harry whispered. “I like Anthony, Jr.”

“Then that’s who you’ll be.”

Harry had to admit, even to himself, that he was displeased when Pepper came over with Indian take away. He looked at her for a long moment and then at Tony, a question in his eyes.

“Pepper’s now CEO of Stark Industries,” he told his son, “until you turn eighteen or choose to take over the company yourself, if that is your choice. I haven’t got the time to be Iron Man and run the company.”

“I don’t want you to be Iron Man,” he replied. “It’s far too dangerous.”

Tony smiled, the left side of his mouth quirking. “Your faith in me is astounding.”

Harry’s eyes snapped to him. “I don’t think you understand—” He glanced at Pepper. “Later.”

“Men with their secrets,” she sighed, her look calculating when she glanced over at Tony. Harry didn’t like it one bit. “Tell me about Salem,” she said conversationally, looking over at Harry.

“Er—well, we have weekends in the town proper. I missed the last one. It was in October. I—er—Aldric Weathercrest asked me to go with him to the one in February.” He blushed just thinking about it.

Aldric Weathercrest was the third and youngest son of the President of MACUSA, Nathaniel Weathercrest. He was a sixth year, which was rather astounding and Harry wasn’t sure what he had done to gain his attention, except being advanced at the end of December to the OWL year in Arithmancy, which was subject to much gossip as was his transfer from Hogwarts.

Sometimes he thought he was a new shiny toy, but Aldric liked to come sit with him at desert and find out what he thought of America and his classes. At first Harry had thought him a goodwill ambassador of some sort, but then Aldric had tried to kiss him.

He had found this rather peculiar and had shied away, but Aldric said he understood, that Harry was still young, and would he perhaps like to go into Salem in February on a date and get to know each other better?

Tony looked a bit startled at this and glanced at his son. “Is this good? Bad?”

“I can’t decide,” he admitted. “I like Aldric. He’s a great guy. I’m a little afraid of his father—of the idea of his father. He’s—er—the President of MACUSA.”

Coughing, Tony quickly took a sip of his beer. “You know how to pick them, Anthony, Jr.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Aldric picked me.”

Pepper cleared her throat. “I know I am no longer your personal assistant, Tony, and I wouldn’t dream of interfering in young Anthony, Jr.’s life, but perhaps he should not—sexually explore at the age of thirteen. The press would have a field day. They don’t even know that he exists.—and when they find out with this add to the mix—it will just explode.”

“Anthony, Jr.,” Tony said sternly, “can be gay, straight, bi, anything else he wants to be. If he wants to go with Aldric, then he can go with Aldric. If he doesn’t, he doesn’t. Just because his old man prefers the ladies, doesn’t mean he has to.”

“I—I think I’m gay,” Harry admitted quietly. “That’s okay?”

“Yeah,” Tony admitted, ruffling his hair, making Harry lean into him. How he loved the feel of his father’s hands—they made them feel safe. And Aldric was a good choice. Yes, yes he was. He was handsome, strong, and his shocking blue eyes were absolutely arresting. 

“Aunt Petunia would find it—freakish. She found everything freakish, though.” He sighed.

Tony put down his carton of some kind of noodles and looked at Harry in the eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with this. If you want, why don’t you invite Aldric to a restaurant in L.A.? I’ll write his fearsome dad and ask permission even, so everything’s on the up and up.”

“Remember we’re interviewing possible personal assistants for you, Tony,” Pepper piped in. “You can’t function without someone keeping your life organized for you.”

“I want someone Anthony, Jr. is comfortable with,” he replied perfunctorily, his eyes never leaving Harry, who was now blushing at the thought of being alone with Aldric in public. “Whoever it is will have access to the house and the lab.”

Pepper sighed. “Very well.”

… … … … …

Harry immediately liked Natalie Rushman—apart from her dark ginger hair. Tony was looking at her appreciatively and Harry couldn’t help but wonder if it was because he had a type. 

“I don’t want a stepmother,” he stated cautiously as she was fighting Happy in the ring.

Tony looked over at him. “I wasn’t thinking of giving you one,” he answered honestly. “I want to give you stability but I don’t want to replace your mother, Anthony, Jr. I’ve never wanted to replace her.”

Instantly relaxing, Harry breathed out in relief. “I had JARVIS look you up—I know that you—though not since you found me—”

Seeming to understand what Harry was trying to tell him, Tony wrapped an arm around him. “As I said, I want to give you stability. I don’t need that hollow form of comfort anymore, Anthony, Jr. If I ever want to pursue someone, you will have veto power, okay? But we need to settle first. We’re still getting to know each other—we have your world that I’m not used to—I’m still learning how to be a father—I promise to tell you if I decide to start dating.” His expressive brown eyes looked down at Harry and seemed to contain something. “Still, she has some mad skills.”

Hesitating, Harry finally offered—“I think Pepper fancies you.”

“I know,” Tony answered. “Nothing will come of it.”

He couldn’t help it. Harry breathed out of his nose in relief again. He really didn’t want a ginger top as a stepmother. 

… … … … …

When he got Natalie alone, he told her in a low voice, “I want Pepper kept away from my father.”

She looked honestly surprised. “Why?”

“Pepper’s nice, sort of—but she fancies Tony. It’s not that I think Tony’s going to fall for it, but I just don’t want—” He shook his head. “She’s delusional and I don’t appreciate it.”

Natalie paused for a long second. “I’ll keep an eye on the situation,” she promised. “I’m your dad’s personal assistant—but I’m here to make your life easier, too. I’ll let you know if I see anything.—You know you should be getting ready for the press conference.”

Harry looked down at his black slacks and black button down shirt. “Tie?” he wondered.

“Well,” she suggested, unbuttoning the top button. “I suppose you could do without. You are young, after all, and you don’t want to be a Mini Me, now do you?”

Harry honestly didn’t get the reference, but decided to let it slide. “I suppose not.”

“There,” she agreed, standing back and looking at him after messing up his hair slightly. “You look handsome. You’ll be quite the heartbreaker.”

Wondering if he would be breaking Aldric Weathercrest’s heart and if that was even possible, Harry took a fortifying breath.

Tony seemed to have slipped into the small waiting room, which was off of a public hall where they would be giving a press conference, and placed his hands on Harry’s shoulders. A feeling of warmth passed through Harry and he tried not to melt into his father’s touch. “That’s my boy,” Tony agreed, and Harry looked back at him to see he was in a suit and tie. “I can hear the ravenous beast already waiting.”

He was, of course, referring to the reporters who were already filling the hall.

The subject of the press conference had been kept a secret, along with Harry’s existence, but Natalie thought that it was best to control the story before Harry went back to school just after New Years’ in case anyone should find out who he was before he got back for Summer Hols. 

Harry didn’t bother to correct her that wizards had no idea who Tony Stark was and Muggles weren’t given access to Salem’s records.

“Here’s looking at you, kid,” Tony teased, Harry for once getting the reference, as Tony walked out on stage to the sound of the crowd shouting questions at him.

Moving to the space that led out onto the stage next to Natalie, Harry watched as Tony settled the reporters down and gave one of his seductive smiles that had the crowd eating out of his hand.

“Ladies, Gentleman,” Tony greeted, “I’m here to tell a bit of a story, if you’ll bear with me, before I make my announcement.” He paused and clung to his podium. A second one, closer to where Harry was standing, was conspicuously empty and waiting for him.

“I fell in love about fifteen years ago with a woman who was—unlike anyone I’d ever met. Her name was Lily.” Immediately, Harry saw flashes go off as reporters took Tony’s photograph, and he just stood there for a moment, his face unreadable. Finally, he continued, “We parted ways on her insistence, but I never forgot her. No one ever compared. I’ve kept every single letter from her, every memento, everything that has reminded me of her including her impressive mathematical calculations that could almost put mine to shame.” He gave the crowd a cocky grin. “When I was in Afghanistan, all I could think about was surviving—not for my own sake, but for the hope of seeing her again.”

“Are you getting married?” someone shouted in the crowd, which started another round of photographs.

Tony, however, didn’t quite answer the question. “When I got home, I did everything to find her. I discovered, however, that she died less than a year after we said our goodbyes—but she had left behind a child—our child.”

All of a sudden there was an uproar. People were screaming out questions, cameras were going off, but Tony just stood there and took it all for several minutes until he leaned down and spoke directly into the microphone. “Anthony, Jr. was living with his aunt, with no idea who I was, how to contact me, only that his father was somewhere out there and that he was named for me. It’s obvious just by looking at him that he’s a Stark. His grades in math and science are phenomenal. He’s a right chip off of the old block, and frankly DNA doesn’t lie.—I will never have Lily back, but she gave me something much more precious. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you my son.”

Harry took in a deep breath and looked at Natalie, who smiled at him. To the sound of surprised reporters, Harry walked out onto the stage and looked out at everyone, trying not to blink as they took his photograph.

He was only thankful that he was wearing contacts and that just the week before Tony had the top plastic surgeon in L.A. resculpt his forehead so that he no longer had the tell tale lightning bolt scar. 

“How old are you?” someone shouted up near the font and Harry took a deep breath.

“Thirteen,” he answered, “and a half.”

“Quiet down,” Tony commanded into his microphone. “We’ll be taking one question at a time. If I don’t call on you, Anthony, Jr. won’t be answering.” He looked over at Harry and winked. It was clear he had experience with the press before.

“You lived with your aunt?” someone asked.

“Er—yes. We thought my dad’s name was Anthony Howard—which is my name—and was British, like us, but it turns out that Tony is, well, American. I’m still getting used to the accent in general.”

This caused a bit of a laugh. 

“How do you feel about your dad making weapons?”

Tony stepped in. “Is that really necessary? I was expecting that you, of all people, would ask about girls.”

Harry looked at him in shock.

“There’s a story,” someone murmured to laughter.

Blushing, Harry answered, “I’m not interested in girls right now.—Currently, I’m not interested in weapons” (which was true; Harry found weapons odd in general because guns were illegal in England) “I’m just trying to build my first robot.”

This caused everyone to laugh.

The banter went back and forth—what did he remember of his mother?—nothing—who was she?—Tony took that one as she was twenty when she died—where did Harry go to school?—what were his favorite subjects?—what did he like most about Malibu?—did he want another mother?

“No,” he answered quite firmly. “I don’t want another mother. I’ve always had Mum—who was brilliant and loved me more than anyone in the world—no one can possibly live up to her.” His voice was firm and brooked no argument. “I only ever wanted my dad.”

The interview wrapped up soon after that and Natalie gave him a smile when he came through. 

“Good job, Anthony, Jr.,” she praised. “You handled the press well, especially for your first time.”

“Never again,” he begged Tony. “Why would I ever want another mum?”

“Wishful thinking on their part. I’m now a family man,” he told Harry honestly. “They’re looking for the complete picture.—But as I told you. No one could ever replace your mom.”

This both soothed Harry. He felt a sense of belonging he had never felt before, and he wanted nothing messing with that.

At least he had his lunch with Aldric to look forward to the following day. He was willing to give this a shot, even if he was only thirteen. He needed to get his mind off of the press and the thoughts of Pepper who was constantly hanging around—and what better way was there?

… … … … …

There were reporters when Harry was dropped off near the magical district in L.A. Happy had driven him and had been given directions to leave him at a clothing store three magical blocks away where wizards often snuck out the back, Natalie accompanying him in case he was spotted on his way in.

Tony had told him—“I’m not going to be overbearing, just tinkering in my lab. You give me a call if you need anything, though, kid, and I’ll put on the suit and be there before you know it.”

Harry was dressed in wizarding fashion but Natalie only looked at it for a moment and then returned to the files she was going over. His coat was a rather interesting cut of sharp angles and a dark yet shocking red, the collar meant to be tucked up over the ears in sharp points. Dragonhide gloves encased his fingers, his boots a typical wizard style, shining unnaturally. The only thing that appeared Muggle were his trousers—which were the typical pureblood black and, at first glance, seemed to be just black trousers.

“When should I expect you?” Natalie asked, not looking up. “There’s a café two blocks away I was going to go to.”

Looking out the window, he didn’t at first answer. “I don’t know. Aldric and I are having lunch and then—I don’t know. I’ve never gone on a date before.”

She smiled at him. “Okay, Anthony, Jr. I won’t cramp your style.”

Reaching up to fiddle with his glasses, Harry realized he was wearing contacts.

Natalie smirked, “He’ll love you without glasses, Anthony, Jr. Your eyes are gorgeous. Did you inherit them from your mom’s side?”

“Yes,” he answered after a moment. “Obviously I look almost exactly like Tony, a little paler, but with Mum’s eyes.”

She shifted papers around and then looked up. “Well, I can’t speak for Mr. Stark, but I can see why he fell for your mother if she had eyes like those. I’m afraid you’re going to be a heartbreaker.” Natalie took in his coat briefly and then they were pulling up to the curb.

Harry didn’t wait for Happy to get out and open the door, but immediately got out with a quick wave to Natalie. The place where they parked was a little way down from L.A. Genes, and he put up his collar, hoping that no one from the Muggle press was around, and headed down the street.

He wasn’t so lucky. 

“Anthony, Jr.!” someone called and he ducked his head and hurried up. Immediately he felt Natalie by his side, her hand on his lower back. There was the flash of a camera, and Harry looked away.

“Are you a secret love child? Was your mom cheating on someone when she was with Tony Stark?”

Surprised by the question, Harry paused and looked up at Natalie, who pushed him forward. “How could they ask such things?” Harry whispered, his heart clenching. He knew the truth of his parents’ affair. Of course, he did. But to suggest such a thing when James Potter had been a wife beater—it made Harry sick.

“Think nothing of it, Anthony, Jr.,” Natalie told him as they entered and went toward the back of the store. “They’re just roaches. They’ll say anything to sell a story.” Removing her hand, she looked around at the jeans that were coating the store in confusion. “I leave you here?”

Shrugging, Harry gave her a small smile. “You leave me here.”

“Play cloak and dagger, kid,” she teased, and then she was gone.

Harry took in a deep breath and was immediately heading toward the back. The girl behind the counter had an earring with an equilateral cross and as soon as she saw him in his wizarding clothes, she tipped her head toward a little side door and winked. Nodding, Harry went through the gap onto a paved street that clearly had buildings on either side without windows looking out onto him. There was graffiti of stars, names of famous popstars, tag lines, and he even paused when he found the famous lightning jagging in between glasses that were hovering on the wall.

How odd.

At the end there was a door that was locked and without a handle. Remembering the instructions, Harry found the small hole and inserted his wand before turning it counterclockwise until he heard a click.

And then he was in.

Colors erupted everywhere around him and Harry immediately smiled. His bright clothes fit in perfectly and he looked like just another well dressed teen out for a winter’s day among magic. 

When he was passing the public floos (there were three large fireplaces in a row), he paused when he noticed a wizard who was taller than him, a young face, wearing what appeared to be—Harry paused. It was clearly wizarding, but it was inspired by—No. The waistcoat was a bright green satin with a green cravat of a matching color. A gold watch chain hung from the waistcoat—thin, expensive, wizarding certainly. Whatever the shirtsleeves were, which were clearly of a British wizarding fashion, they were completely hidden. The coat could either be black or dark green, it was difficult to tell, but it was brocade with bright green buttons.

It was incredibly elegant, incredibly masculine, and if it had snakes embroidered on it, then it would certainly be—Slytherin.

A gentleman’s hat was on his head and his emerald green and proud chin were looking around him as if he was above everything he took in.

His eyes swept the crowd and then paused on Harry who had stopped to take him in. His hair glinted a deep in the winter’s light as it fell to his chin. His lips curled pleasantly as if he had found exactly what he had been looking forward to, and he approached Harry. Standing before him and nodding his head, he asked, “Do you perhaps know where they sell international publications? I’m interested in Russia as well as—America, I believe you call your country.” Oh, he was definitely British and his voice sent a shiver down Harry’s spine.

Why did he have to be meeting Aldric? Aldric, although a sixth year, was nothing compared to this man. Maybe Harry had a thing for older men or ones who were clearly inappropriate. Then again, that wasn’t quite true. Aldric was still quite a boy, and Harry had rather talked himself into it.

But wasn’t it so good to hear a British voice again?

Raising an eyebrow, Harry answered in his crisp posh accent. “I’ve only recently moved to America,” he apologized, “and it’s my first time here in Los Angeles. I’m not even certain how to find the restaurant I’m meeting a friend at.”

“Forgive me,” the wizard apologized, taking him in again, “you seemed to be dressed in the height of American wizarding fashion as far as I could tell.” The wizard’s eyes raked over Harry, roving over his coat, to his hands, and then flicking up to his lips for a long moment before catching his eyes.

Harry laughed a little. “My father, who’s American, would have nothing less.” No, Tony wouldn’t. He liked to bum around in his (designer) jeans and rock band tees, but he had suits that probably cost as much as Dudley’s fees at Smeltings for an entire term. He wanted Harry to both dress as he wanted to dress but also to be able to dress to his station in life—and Harry considered himself a Slytherin pureblood, so Tony saw that he got everything he needed.

Smiling again, Harry apologized, “I’m afraid you asked the wrong person. You found someone as uninformed as you.”

“Loki Odinson,” the wizard introduced himself, holding out a gloved hand (green) in proper wizarding respect. It was the way men greeted men, not men introducing themselves to children.

The name seemed familiar, as if Harry should recognize it, but a haze seemed to fall over it, and he promptly forgot.

Wryly and with a little thrill, Harry took the hand. “Anthony Stark, Jr.”

“Perhaps,” Loki suggested, “we can find our separate destinations together.”

Tilting his head in a way that he had actually practiced in the mirror having seen Tony do it and witnessing women melt at it, Harry fell into step with the wizard. At first they didn’t speak, but the wizard had a certain presence and, while people didn’t necessarily part for them, Harry found it easy to walk with the wizard without people getting in his way. It was as if some magic were at play, but Loki was not using a wand, his hands were not moving at all even. Peculiar.

“Did you just arrive from England?” Harry asked, “or are you visiting America over the Hols?”

Loki glanced over with brightness in his eyes. “I hail from Norway,” he admitted. “I’ve been scouring Europe for certain publications, and have found myself disappointed. I thought I would try here and then New York and perhaps stay a couple of days if I’m successful.”

“Oh,” Harry murmured before catching Loki’s eye again. “Do you know England at all? Perhaps Godric’s Hollow? My mother lived there before she died.”

“I do,” he agreed before scanning the stores to his left. “I tend to avoid it because of the—tourists, I suppose you could call them.”

Stopping, Harry looked at him.

Loki didn’t notice for a moment, but then paused and came back to him. “Monsieur Anthony?” he questioned and his eyes were so intense that Harry tried to suppress a chill running down his spine.

After a moment, he asked as he tried to keep his voice stable, “The Potters?”

Tilting his head, Loki agreed silently.

Harry let out a breath and the idea that there were tourists that went to the village where his mother was murdered and then glanced to the right and saw The Sneaky Kneazle. “There it is,” he murmured before turning to Loki. “I didn’t know. I suppose I should have guessed. I had thought I’d go visit her grave over the summer perhaps, my father would take me if I asked, but I’d rather stay away from—Potter fanatics.” He tried not to sneer at the end of it. He hated people who cared for him because of his fame. 

At that moment, the maître d’ of The Sneaky Kneazle seemed to spot them and approached with a folded note and bowed before handing it to Harry. He looked at it in shock before looking down. Why wasn’t he just owled?

He opened it up and saw that Aldric canceled fifteen minutes earlier when his father identified him as a half-blood and the son of Muggle titan Tony Stark after that little run in with the reporter. It seemed MACUSA had eyes everywhere. Harry was honestly surprised that Nathaniel Weathercrest hadn’t realized who he was given his adoption and relocation to America just that November. There was also the rather well-covered press conference.

Loki politely remained silent until Harry folded up the note and put it in his pocket.

“It seems that I have more time to help you find what you’re looking for,” he offered. “You can tell me what’s happening in Europe.”

Taking a step forward, Loki placed a hand on Harry’s arm. “Is everything well, Monsieur Anthony?”

He gave a small smile. “My friend cannot make it. His father is rather important and something seems to have come up. My own father is rather influential and just keeping away from reporters is difficult—so I can imagine where plans might have to be canceled suddenly.”

His look turning calculating, Loki indicated that they should continue walking. “Well, are you aware that Harry Potter has been removed from Hogwarts? Although I’m Norwegian, I attended that particular institution,” he told him. “Potter was a first year when I was taking my NEWTS in Slytherin House, but I never personally met him.”

A sort of haze fell over Harry’s mind again, one that he could identify, one that he didn’t even realize was there. Looking at Loki for a long moment, Harry realized he didn’t recognize Loki except—“you played Quidditch.”

“Of course,” he seemed to realize. “You must have attended Hogwarts before you moved to America.”

“I did,” Harry agreed. “I doubt more than a handful of people really cared.—I’m currently learning the rules of Quodpot, but I’m not too keen. I really do prefer Quidditch.”

“Well,” Loki stated smugly, “let’s not have these colonists convert you.”

**TBC...**


	5. Part the Fifth

In the end they found what Loki was looking for. Smiling to himself, Loki folded them under his arm and then offered Harry lunch at his pleasure. “You may be too young to be familiar with it, but there’s a pureblood wizard club in London—The Wicked Stepmother. It’s rather exclusive. While its sister clubs aren’t as stringent, my membership will gain us entry, or would you prefer—I do not know what Salem students eat.”

“Pizza probably,” Harry laughed a little. “But I can have that anytime.”

This brought a curl to Loki’s lips. 

He opened a door that was barely wide enough for a house elf to get through and just kept on pulling wider until there was space enough for both of them to enter a room with portraits of famous American wizards and couches where the elite of American society seemed to be chatting and enjoying hors d’oeuvres that were floating around them. 

Loki led them to a curtain, holding it back for Harry, before presenting a deep blue card.

“Lord Loki,” a willowy witch purred as she looked at the card and registered it in a large book before holding it back. “Welcome. Your guest?”

“Anthony Stark, Jr.” 

The witch clearly didn’t recognize him as the son of Tony Stark or someone other than a pureblood because with a flourish of her quill, she led them to a bright room that had floor to ceiling windows and was in the shape of a semicircle. They were led to a table that was just beside one of the windows that was surprisingly free despite the fact that most of the tables were occupied and—yes, there was the reserved sign that was swept away as Harry’s coat was taken and his chair was held out for him.

Loki looked him over appreciatively, as he was left in his shirtsleeves, cravat, and waistcoat. The chain of the magical watch hung as the one spot of color other than green on his person.

“Is your excellent father a member?” he asked as he took his napkin with a flourish and placed it on his lap.

“No,” Harry refuted. “Tony wouldn’t like all of this. He likes to hide in plain sight when he’s not courting the media for whatever reason.”

“I take it he’s a complex wizard,” Loki murmured.

Harry nodded as he took a sip of his water. “Do you miss Slytherin? I haven’t really had a chance to yet. Everything’s been too new.”

Allowing the change in subject, Loki regarded him. “I do not miss the dorms,” he admitted. “The camaraderie, surely. I like to take in the odd Quidditch game. Do you follow a particular club?”

“Caerphilly,” he admitted. “Not that seriously. Some of my dorm mates were mad about their clubs and we had a few posters up that Snape would come take down every few months, but I just prefer playing.”

Then the oddest sensation overcame Harry. It was as if someone were pulling information from his mind. He blinked, trying to dispel it, and then it was as if he forgot it had happened at all.

Loki gave him a charming smile. “Snape was always fair if you didn’t get on his wrong side,” Loki agreed. “I barely made it through his NEWTs class.—The Quidditch World cup is being held this July. Perhaps your father will take you.” The last was said as if through water, as if the words were someone else’s, but as soon as Harry noticed, again the memory was gone.

“Will you be there?” Harry asked, wanting to get off the subject of his father.

“Undoubtedly,” Loki stated, as if he had only decided that moment. “I already have my tickets. I’ve had them for two years.”

Harry swallowed. Well, Tony certainly had enough money. Loki seemed to, as well. “I suppose they’ll be somewhere in Europe.”

“They’re in England,” Loki told him as a decanter of some amber liquid was placed on the table and menus with three options were left on their plates. Firechicken. Acromantula. Duck.

“What’s a firechicken?” Harry asked in confusion.

“If you don’t know,” Loki warned kindly, light in his eyes full of mischief, “I wouldn’t recommend getting it. It might insult your sensibilities.”

“I was almost killed by an Acramantula last June at Hogwarts,” Harry then admitted. “People eat them?”

“Their eggs,” Loki stated after well-concealed but visible shock was wiped from his face. “It’s a delicacy. I understand that Muggles—No Majes—eat fish eggs.”

“Caviar,” Harry informed him. “Are they any good? I had duck last night.” Tony had wanted Chinese takeaway and Harry had agreed as long as it was just the two of them. Naturally, Tony ordered about fifteen different dishes and Harry had sampled all of them before declaring himself full and dead to the world.

Loki looked up from his menu, clearly decided. “I quite enjoy them. I’m torn between that and the firechicken, but I might go with the latter.”

“Just don’t tell me what it is,” Harry begged as he looked up and smiled. “Thank you—for this. I didn’t realize how much I had been looking forward to just getting out and away from the adults in my life.”

Laughing Loki asked, “I’m not an adult?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Harry refuted quickly. “You’re not my father’s age. You also aren’t in love with him and wanting to get me out of the way.” His thoughts darkened to Pepper who tried to lure Tony to a private dinner meeting with just the two of them just earlier that week. Fortunately, Natalie entered and pointed out that Tony only had to sign on the dotted line twice and could go out with Harry for a midnight picnic on the beach instead.

“It must be difficult to be a widower,” Loki murmured. “Any witch would know that a wizard’s heir takes priority.” A thought crossed the room. Any goddess would know that the Great Odin would always favor his Queen and his two princes. 

Odin. Odinson. Somehow Harry knew these names, but then—just as the thought was there—it was gone. 

“Tell her that,” Harry muttered to himself. “Were your parents in Slytherin? Mum was in Gryffindor and Dad’s—American.”

“Ravenclaw and Slytherin,” Loki answered as if the answer were well-rehearsed. “We have a tendency to be rather ambitious. I’m trying to set up a wizarding bank that’s an alternative to Gringotts. I have had decent success in Cornwall where some wizards are still distrustful of England in general.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up. “I never thought—of course. I had money in Gringotts but all of it’s here—I suppose. I told Tony I didn’t want to look at any more financial figures until I’m of age. He agreed that numbers are for fun and arithmancy.”

“You are skilled in figures?” Loki asked, suddenly sitting forward. “In maths or in the building of spells?” 

They had already given their orders and Loki was pouring tumblers of the amber liquid, which Harry sipped before coughing. It was like his throat was on fire. Loki smiled to himself at his reaction.

“I managed my stepfather’s finances since I was eleven,” Harry admitted. “I forfeited it when I moved here, but I didn’t want any of his money. I suppose someone else has it.”

Looking pensive, Loki nodded.

Pausing, Harry then admitted, “And then, of course, numbers help you master spells.” A heady atmosphere filled the air and he tipped his finger up so that his fork lifted ever so slightly, showing how easy it was for Harry to move the piece of silverware, just that he wasn’t going to show off in a crowded restaurant.

Loki’s eyes gleamed as he took another sip from his tumbler.

After their meal, they sat drinking the amber liquid and Loki looked into his tumbler for a long moment. “I can only guess your age, Monsieur Anthony, but who should I petition to formally court you?”

Harry paused for a long moment. He had read about courting between wizards and witches in Spungen’s Guide to Pureblood Dynasties, c.1500-present. There was even a small section about wizards courting other wizards, although it was terribly vague and full of generalities.

“I think,” Harry stated after a moment, “that Dad will kill you. I think you were a seventh year when I arrived at Hogwarts.” There was some notion of that in his head, but still it was a bit vague, as if that thought had been put in his head.

Loki quirked an eyebrow at him and smirked. “I always paid attention to the firsties, but for some reason, I don’t recall anyone like you.—Are Americans a little more—conservative—when it comes to age?”

“I’d imagine.” Harry swallowed. 

“Is it the distance?” Loki then asked, his eyes probing. “The fact that I’m a wizard and you either are expected or want to marry a witch? I understand given your name and being named after your own father that you are the heir and certain obligations must be met—”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Harry interrupted. “Tony’s fine with me being gay. He’s happy for me. His representatives don’t think it’s—prudent—but we Starks tend to do what we want.” He thought of his parents’ entire affair and the fact that Tony had had nearly a new bedpartner every night for most of Harry’s life when he was living in obscurity in Surrey.

“Then it’s America’s peculiar ideas about propriety? I assure you distance is no object. I know you enjoy my company, Monsieur Anthony—”

“Lord Loki,” Harry stated quickly, getting in a word.

“Heed my words,” Loki begged, sitting forward, all elegance as if he were almost from another world. “I have position.” A smile cracked on his lips. “Great position.—I have great personal wealth. I have a flourishing though fledgling business, which is more of a hobby than anything as I have no real need for the capital it affords me. I am not in a position where I have to provide heirs as a younger son so—if our courtship progresses—I will have no need to take a wife. I can offer a magical bonding that I know both the British and American Ministries will recognize.” His green eyes shone brilliant and somehow Harry knew extinctually that someone else’s blessing was need—but that Loki would get it by whatever means necessary.

“Really?” Harry asked in confusion. “I know that they don’t allow wizards to marry Muggles here in America.” That had been an initial point of quandary when Tony had gained custody of him. The fact that he and Lily had an affair was damning enough, but since it happened in Britain and Lily broke no British wizarding laws, there was only a slight hiccup. Lily was dead anyway. She couldn’t be punished and MACUSA would never punish Tony, who had not been one of its citizens, or Harry, who was an innocent child.

“As they should,” Loki stated, which didn’t really surprise Harry. He had been in Slytherin and if he was somehow connected to one of the four Lords—well.

Harry clenched his jaw. “I was brought up more liberally,” he stated plainly, his green eyes flashing. 

Loki regarded him for a short moment before nodding. “Monsieur Anthony—”

“I need to think,” he stated quickly. “I—I’m only thirteen. I’m not certain I’m ready for a courtship. Tony won’t understand even if I decided to give it a go. He’s—American—and I’m still discovering what it means to be Anthony Stark, Jr.”

“I don’t understand,” Loki admitted.

“No,” Harry agreed. Sighing, he tried to put it in pureblood terms. “My mother and her sister were estranged. She only told Aunt Petunia that my father was named Anthony. Tony was called away to America and you know what it was like in Britain.” A pull again in his mind and then Harry instantly forgot. “I was born, Mum was murdered in the war, Aunt Petunia got me, and Tony was left not knowing what happened to Mum or that I even existed. It took thirteen years for him to find me and then it was only through luck. He was here in America. As soon as he heard—he, of course, contacted my aunt and I moved here. Now there’s Quodpot and peculiar clothing and press conferences—and I have a dad for the first time in my life. We’re still trying to figure each other out.” He didn’t realize he had been looking at his hands until he looked up at Loki was shocking green eyes.

Loki was looking at him calmly. “The war took many lives, left many children without parents, many parents without children. I, myself, am alone here on Midgard.”

The name stuck with him. Harry had heard of ‘Midgard’ before but no one use the term, but then, a sly look appeared on Loki’s face, and the knowledge of the word escaped Harry’s mind completely.

But Loki was undoubtedly a pureblood, Harry realized. He was in Slytherin. He was Lord Loki Odinson, and although Harry didn’t quite—nearly—almost recognize the name, it was certainly ancient. As soon as he realized that Harry’s mother was a Muggleborn and his father wasn’t even magical in the slightest, he would—and the likelihood was high—toss Harry aside like a niffler that could no longer sniff out gold.

That was perhaps another reason why he should never see Lord Loki Odinson after today. His father was a Muggle. He’d probably never be able to fake getting into this club without being escorted in. As James Potter’s supposed heir and the Savior of the Wizarding World, Harry could move about in pureblood society easily, not completely, but nearly. Now, he was acting as a chameleon.

Something changed in Loki’s face, almost as if he were somehow reading Harry’s mind. “You’ve decided against me.”

“Natalie will be waiting for me,” Harry said instead, getting up to stand and finding that his chair was pulled out for him. “She escorted me from Malibu.”

“Then let me see you safely delivered into her hands,” Loki offered as he handed Harry his gloves before taking his own coat and hat.

Loki placed his gloved hand at the small of Harry’s back, which was strangely comforting. Nothing was said between the two of them as they walked past the three large fireplaces, through the graffitied passageway, and into L.A. Genes. There was someone new behind the till, but she looked at them as if she wasn’t surprised. A young man with tattoos, one being of an equilateral cross on his cheek, indicated the front door of the shop.

As soon as Harry stepped out of the store, Natalie was there as if she had some form of warning, and she smiled at him and looked at Loki with curiosity.

“How was lunch, Anthony, Jr.?” she asked. “We’re parked around the corner.”

“I leave you in the capable hands of Mademoiselle Natalie,” Loki stated, tipping his hat to her before lifting Harry’s hand up between both of his, their eyes held.

The moment ended when a flash went off and someone screamed, “Anthony, Jr. Is it true that your mother was Tony Stark’s whore?”

“Was she married to James Potter?” someone else shouted. “Is your name Harry?”

“Merlin!” Harry shuddered and there were strong hands on his shoulder as he was guided through the cameras as Natalie parted the way before them. Not realizing it was Loki who was holding onto him, Harry had bent his head down below the lapels so that his face was hidden.

The open door to the town car was there and he climbed into it, someone following him in, and then he looked up to see Natalie.

“Harry?” she asked in confusion.

“Anthony Howard,” he responded. “Mum was a fan of his work on the Manhattan Project.”

Then he realized that there was someone sitting beside him. He looked over to see that Loki was sitting there, looking at him with his hat upside down on his lap as he was taking off his gloves. “It seems I do remember you from Slytherin House.” His voice betrayed nothing.

“Please,” Harry begged. “You can’t tell anyone. If they get wind of this in England—that the great Harry Potter debunked to America and isn’t even a Potter—Lord Loki—”

“You’re not a pureblood,” he stated with resignation, however it was almost as if he didn’t quite care and was playing a part.

“No,” Harry agreed. “I’ll reimburse you for the meal. I realize this is—unpleasant—but you found a bit of Slytherin in L.A. of all places, at least.”

“Slytherin honor demands that I keep your confidence,” he agreed, looking over. “They’re vultures, the lot of them. And Muggles.”

The car had been moving and Harry suddenly realized they were on the freeway. “Er—we have a fireplace at home. Tony’s going to think you’re Aldric Weathercrest, the youngest son of Nathaniel—”

“Quite,” Loki stated curtly before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. “Be honest, Monsieur Anthony—who are you?”

“The son of Lily Potter and a very wealthy Muggle.” He cringed internally but when Loki turned to him and assessed him for several long moments. Harry didn’t back down. What Loki said after a moment honestly surprised Harry.

“Mademoiselle Natalie,” (he didn’t even look at her, his eyes still on Harry) “I require a few private moments with Monsieur Anthony, if he is amenable.”

Natalie glanced between them. “Anthony, Jr.?”

“It’s okay, Natalie. Lord Loki is a man of honor. We’ve known each other for years.”

She set her papers down, pressed a button and the passenger seat at the front of the town car came down and she was able to slip forward before straightening the seat and leaving them in complete privacy. Harry watched her go for a long moment but then turned back to Loki who was still looking at him.

“Your father,” Loki stated carefully, “will not be amenable to me because he is a Muggle and they—do things differently.” The word ‘Muggle’ it seemed was almost replaced at the last moment for another word. “Magic is precious.”

“Yeah,” Harry admitted.

He reached up and his fingertips brushed the edge of Harry’s jaw. “I think you’re a really a pureblood in Muggle clothing.”

“Really?” Harry asked as his eyes closed and his voice got a little breathy. Why was Loki having such an affect on him? This was madness. He felt like his heart had been pulled so many directions the past two months and now he could feel breath against his lips—and he opened eyes to see blue ones so close to his. 

“Tell me to leave and I’ll Apparate away after fixing that Muggle’s memory.”

Harry’s eyes dipped to Loki’s lips for the briefest of moments. “Is this really allowed? Spungen’s barely says anything—”

“On my honor as Prince of Midgard,” Loki promised, the words shimmering and shifting away, “as soon as you turn thirteen and with a wizarding guardian’s consent.”

“I never want to go back to England,” he murmured. 

“Then I’ll come here,” Loki promised before he closed the distance between them.

Harry breathed in as lips met lips and then he found his fingers, that were still encased in dragonhide gloves, were in Loki’s hair and Harry was pulling Loki closer. 

It was brief, but that’s all it had to be. Harry sighed when Loki’s lips touched his smooth forehead before his gloves were pulled from his hands and then Harry was resting against Loki as they each looked out the window at the cars moving past them.

When they were getting off the freeway, Harry murmured, “If I wrote letters to Theo Nott and Draco Malfoy, could you owl them from England so they can’t be traced back to here? I never really got to say goodbye. I can’t explain, of course, but I can say goodbye. Maybe I’ll see them one day.”

Loki sighed. “If you came as my guest to the World Cup—if you can get over your dislike of England for a match—you’ll certainly see Heir Draco. I read somewhere that Lord Malfoy was in the Top Box with the Minister of Magic.”

Smiling to himself, Harry then laughed. “Draco will love that.”

Loki looked down at him and let his fingers run through his hair. Without even meaning to, Harry had come to an understanding with Loki. He had meant to distract himself with Aldric, or at least try to, but this was so much better—

… … … … …

Tony was in the laboratory when JARVIS informed him that “Master Anthony” had arrived home. His heart twinging at the thought of his son on a date—his first date—no, Tony reminded himself. This was a good thing. Harry needed to not carry the weight of the world on his neck. He needed to know that he was loved, that he could be himself. A wizard. A young man. A man confident in his sexuality or exploring—whatever was happening.

“I detect three heartbeats making their way to the living room,” JARVIS surprisingly informed him.

Tony was already wiping his hands. Hurrying up, he made his way up to the main house and found Natalie sitting down to the side, going through her papers while Harry was pointing out something about the floo to a young man dressed like—a period drama—and in green. He even had the hat.

Well, Tony wasn’t going to fault this Aldric Weathercrest for wizarding fashion.

Harry looked over and his face lit up. “Tony. I ran into an old schoolmate from Hogwarts. This is Lord Loki Odinson.”

A little surprised at the title, a shift in his mind as if he should know it, Tony nonetheless took it in stride. “Lord Loki,” he greeted. “What brings you to California?”

“International publications,” he answered in an elitist tone that was definitely—yeah, snobbish. This guy was snobbish. Well, he was a lord, so Tony supposed it all fit. “I didn’t recognize Monsieur Anthony until we were mobbed by reporters on the Muggle street.”

Tony frowned. “Natalie?”

She stood. “They believe that Lily was your—whore—and married to someone named James Potter. They also think that Anthony Jr. is called ‘Harry,’ which is apparently short for Howard.”

Groaning, Tony looked at his son. “You all right, kiddo? I know I’m still not sold on the floo, but if you can use it to get about without having to use the car, as much as I don’t like the idea—”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “I would have insisted but Pepper was here.”

Rolling his eyes, Tony ruffled his hair. “Natalie and I are talking about how we can do a run around her. I know how much you dislike Pepper.—Well, thanks for being there, Lord Loki, for Anthony, Jr.—What happened to Aldric?”

Harry bit his lip. “He stood me up when he found out who you were.”

Tony’s face went blank and then he caught Natalie’s eye and signaled that she should go. The great thing about Natalie was that she could take the hint. She’d be off in some other room with her work and not leave until she was dismissed or informed him. “He did what?” he finally asked. 

Lord Loki stepped forward. “Perhaps I could speak to you for a moment, Mr. Stark.—I assure you I don’t care that Monsieur Anthony is the son of a common Muggle, although I understand you are quite wealthy.”

Yeah, Tony didn’t like this guy. He was too uppity. Not like Lily’s soft British quietness at all. 

Then he saw it, the look that passed between his son and this upstart. It was knowing and affectionate. How old was this kid anyway? He had to be older than sixteen, and Tony had only allowed that because Harry needed the affirmation and, well, Harry had had to grow up sooner than he should have. Sixteen was the absolute limit, though.

Leading Lord Loki into his private office, he instantly told him, “No.”

“Mr. Stark, I haven’t even broached a subject—” he stated, his face calm and his hands clasped behind his back.

“I saw how you looked at Anthony, Jr. I don’t approve. How old are you?”

“Nineteen,” he answered easily, an almost lie in his voice. “However, in wizarding society, once a young man reaches thirteen—”

“He’s living under my roof,” Tony argued, “under my rules. I say he can’t date a nineteen year old until he’s sixteen. And when he’s sixteen, you’ll still be too old.”

“I can understand Monsieur Anthony on a level few can,” he argued. “We’re both European—we’re both Slytherins—while I’m a pureblood, he lives and acts as a pureblood, which, forgive me, is something you will never understand. I am the only European pureblood who won’t cut him for having a Muggle father or for being fathered outside of matrimony because I realize there’s something about him that I’ve never seen before. I will also never betray the fact that he was once Harry Potter and I don’t crave that sort of attention if it gets out. I didn’t much care for the press this afternoon.”

“Then you’re next to useless,” Tony stated smugly.

“I’m willing to put up with it for Monsieur Anthony. He told me how he’s advancing in his studies rapidly. Do you want him to be with a schoolboy with their petty jealousies and who he’ll leave behind intellectually? I will encourage him and not hold him down. He may be Tony Stark’s son, and I’m only beginning to realize what this means, but I have a level of distinction in England that many envy. I am not, as you Muggles may say, a hanger on. I will only leave if Monsieur Anthony tells me to go—and he hasn’t. Quite the reverse.”

Tony inwardly cursed. The kid knew what he wanted when he wanted it. He was a Stark through and through. And it seemed he wanted this clown—in green.

Without saying anything, he left the study and—well, he wasn’t sure where Harry went. “JARVIS?”

“Master Anthony is in the lab working on yet another engine.”

“I’m going to lose that kid to NASCAR,” he muttered to himself before he went down the stairs to the mansion’s laboratory. He knew that Lord Loki was behind him, he could hear the swish of his outercoat, which he had never taken off, and he punched in the code to the lab. Turning, he pointed a finger at Lord Loki. “I need to speak to Anthony, Jr. I know you have magic and your wand is hidden somewhere—but I will remind you that you are Anthony Jr.’s guest and that, as his father, I need to speak to him.”

Lord Loki tilted his head and backed away. 

Tony went into the lab and realized that NIRVANA was blasting. He tapped Harry’s sneaker, and Harry rolled out, showing that he had changed into a pair of jeans and a Stark Expo shirt. He seemed to still be wearing contacts. Tony would see if he could schedule eye surgery before he had to ship him back to Massachusetts.

“Tell me the story. The short version.”

“As soon as I saw Lord Loki, I wanted to stand Aldric up. It’s ridiculous, I know. But have you ever just felt attraction immediately? I knew you’d never go for it.”

“So you stood Aldric up,” Tony checked.

“No, he stood me up. Lord Loki then took me to a pureblood gentleman’s club—come to think there were witches there, too—and I had food that I think is illegal—and when he asked me, my heart stopped, but I thought of all these reasons why not to—”

Tony’s heart sank. “But none of those reasons seem important enough.”

Harry shook his head. “He doesn’t care that I have a Muggle father, that I’m famous. He still considers me a pureblood—and, Tony, I know you don’t get it, but I am a pureblood. I can be me, all of me. It’s so—strange. But have you ever felt that with anyone?”

“Lily,” Tony answered without pause before he leaned forward and kissed Harry’s forehead. “Come on out and I’ll outline the rules.”

**TBC...**


	6. Part the Sixth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki takes "Anthony Jr." to the Quidditch World Cup... where he's recognized...

Loki might not have exactly told Tony Stark everything about the Quidditch World Cup. He mentioned it was in England. That the event could last up to three weeks. That he would personally see to Harry’s safety. That there would be tents with assigned beds—however, it would be his personal lot and his personal tent that he would share with Harry. The tent also would come from Asgard.

Of course, he would never impose upon Harry and he was still so young. He wanted Harry to have fun, not have to deal with the conflicting feelings of sex and desire. It still baffled Loki that wizards were allowed to date at the age of thirteen, witches at sixteen. He wasn’t permitted to even look at a lady of the court until he reached his thousandth year—not that he had any interest in ladies or, indeed, Asgardians. Still, Loki had a comfortable tent with several rooms, a master bedroom that he’d give to Harry and a comfortable divan he would make up for himself. He’d done his best to give it luxurious fabrics that could appear on Midgard and yet seem to be what a bachelor would own.

Then he went around altering the memories of various Slytherins, which took over half an afternoon. His dummy wand was forgotten in his sleeve.

Harry arrived by international portkey half a day after Loki, and Loki was waiting for him. He was wearing an outlandish button down shirt with ribbing and a leather jacket made out of—it might have been hippogriff hide—with puff shoulders. 

Wrapping an arm around Harry and grabbing his bag before leading him away from the filthy non-magic users, they wended their way through the campsite.

“How was Malibu?” Loki asked, looking down at Harry. He’d only seen him on the one Salem weekend and had to content himself with letters.

Harry’s face fell. “You haven’t heard. It’s a mess. The government wants the Iron Man suit and—it’s just—all hell has broken loose. I’m so glad to get away for a bit, especially since Tony has been acting so—weird.”

Loki just pulled him closer before they arrived at the tent.

He watched Harry as he entered and his courted took in the wizarding (Asgardian) space with wonder. Soon Harry was rushing through all the rooms and Loki was leaning against the door to the kitchen as Harry inspected it along with the running water, a curl to Loki’s lip. “Does it pass muster?”

“Don’t be silly, Loki,” Harry chided, “of course it passes muster. Are you sure you don’t want me to take the divan? This is your tent—I am your guest.”

“No,” Loki quickly assured him. He ran a hand along Harry’s fringe which had grown quite long over the past few months. “I want you to have fun, to have every comfort I can give you. Now do you want to wander? There are some Slytherins here.”

Harry grimaced. “Who?”

“Oh,” he stated casually, pulling the names to mind and the ridiculous looks on their faces when they fell all over themselves when they ‘recognized’ him. “Montague. Asper. Jenkins. But they’re all ahead of you. I think I saw Lord Malfoy’s tent.—but we can assiduously avoid him.”

“I’d rather not be recognized,” he admitted carefully, coming up to Loki and accepting the two hands that were offered to him.

Loki pulled him close and rested his forehead up against Harry’s. “I thought you didn’t want to wear glamours.”

“I don’t,” he admitted. “I hoped it would be enough without glasses, without the scar, and having my hair longer. I also brought clothing that I only bought in the U.S. so no one can recognize me by my clothing.”

“And you have a different name,” Loki reminded him without delay, tilting up his chin to show that Harry should always hold his chin high. It was something he had learned on Asgard, as the brother of popular Thor Ordinson. “Anthony, Jr.” Then he leaned down and kissed Harry carefully, relishing in the smell of fresh sea air.

The kiss was repeated and then Loki was moving his head to the side to get better access. His kisses became more hurried, more passionate, and Harry was slightly reticent at first until, just when Loki was about to pull back, Harry moaned and pushed himself into Loki, their fingers now entwining. 

Guiding Harry’s arms around his neck, Loki let his hands roam up Harry’s back, pulling him closer until they lost their balance against the door and Harry giggled a little. “Hello,” he murmured as his green eyes sought out Loki’s.

Kissing him again, a quick dart forward and then back, he was happy when Harry met the teasing kiss and they situated themselves against the door. 

Someone, unfortunately, knocked on the outer door and Loki moaned before placing one last kiss on Harry’s lips. He turned and went to the door and saw Marcus Flint leaning there. It really was astounding how ugly he was, but he had been on Loki’s Quidditch team when he was Captain sixth and seventh years. Or so the story went. Loki, in actuality, had been on Jotunheim.

“Flint,” he greeted. “Good showing out there?” He stepped away from the doorway and let Flint enter.

Harry came out of the living room and leaned up against the door casually, all pureblood elegance. The sight made Loki’s blood rush through him. “Marcus Flint, Anthony Stark, Jr., my courted.”

“I don’t know the name Stark,” Flint stated rather viciously, though his eyes were taking in Harry and his expensive wizarding clothing.

“It’s American,” Harry answered calmly. “The Starks are rather prominent in some circles.”

Sizing him up for a moment longer, Flint offered his hand, which Harry took. “You sound English.”

“Mum’s an English witch,” Harry answered, shrugging. “My father’s American. International couples do exist.”

Not answering except with a nod of the head, Flint turned back to Loki. “All of us Quidditch players from Slytherin are having an impromptu rave if the game ends before four a.m. Everyone’s invited, even Malfoy. I made him Seeker my last year. Bring whatever you’ve got and, well, if we find you snogging Stark, I guess we won’t be shocked.—play Quodpot, Stark?”

“Quidditch,” he answered. “Chaser. Mum’s British, remember?”

“And she let you come all the way here without her—at the mercy of Odinson?” His eyes were definitely flashing in amusement.

“I assured Anthony, Jr.’s father that I would be a gentleman,” he told him point blank, not liking the lack of disrespect. Clearly, in his desire to appear Midgardian he hadn’t taken the proper precautions to ensure his natural majesty. “I won’t take kindly if you start suggesting something different to Lord Malfoy or the Minister. Anthony, Jr. is also an international guest.”

Flint held up his monstrously large hands, that were perfect for a beater. “Just teasing. Stark.”

“Flint.”

He exited and Loki was happy to close the door on him. “We don’t have to go,” he promised. “I don’t know how Americans view excessive alcohol intake in minors. I know your father never caught onto the fact that I gave you firewhiskey—”

“Is that what that was?” Harry asked. “And he caught on. That sort of thing doesn’t make it past Tony Stark.” He came over and kissed Loki lightly. “Come on, let’s explore.”

  
… … … … …  


Harry had not expected to meet Viktor Krum. At all. He’d seen posters up of him scowling everywhere, of course he had, but meet him? No.

He and Loki were wandering through a particularly dense crowd that was speaking some language he didn’t understand when they came across a large red tent. 

“That’s worse than Lord Malfoy’s tent,” Loki stated in shock, as if he didn’t expect such a thing to be possible. 

“Is it?” Harry asked, looking at it, calculatingly. “You should have seen the hotel in Monte Carlo. Tony fortunately let me wear American wizarding fashion. Everyone thought I was just some rich kid, it was quite fun, until Tony decided to race his own car,” he added wryly.

Loki rubbed a hand up and down his back in support. 

It was then that Harry felt someone tugging his sleeve. He turned and saw a witch he didn’t recognize, about his age and wearing a miniskirt, standing there. “Anthony, Jr.?” she asked in shock. Oh, no. She was American. She must be an upper year or had just graduated. “Can I have your autograph?”

Knowing it was best to sign a few and then make a hasty exit, Harry held out his hand and a New York Times was shoved in his hand. There was his face along with an insert of Tony’s. He remembered this article. It was calculating whether he would be prepared to take over Stark Industries when he turned eighteen or if Pepper Potts was a better fit.

Trying not to roll his eyes, he signed it quickly and gave it back.

However, she wasn’t the last.

When they were trying to leave politely after he had signed about twelve magazines, newspapers, or slips of paper for American Muggleborns, someone came out of the tent with a huff.

“Vhat is going on?” It was Krum. His scowling face was really no better in person than it was up on posters.

Great. Harry had been signing autographs in front of the Bulgarian Quidditch Team’s tent.

“Anthony, Jr.!” Some idiot shouted. Oh, no. He recognized her from Charms. Wait. Or maybe not. Whatever. “Will you marry me?”

Krum glanced over the crowd in suspicion especially when they all seemed to be focused on someone other than him.

“Do they always do this?” Loki murmured worriedly in his ear.

“Usually I have security or Natalie,” Harry apologized.

The small crowd of eager fangirls were pushing forward and then Harry felt an arm on his shoulder and he was pulled inside a tent. A moment later Loki followed, barely ruffled. How did he manage it?

“You are being famous?” A gruff voice asked and Harry turned to, once again, see Krum.

Harry shrugged. “My dad is. I honestly didn’t think I’d have this problem in Britain.—Thanks, by the way. I know you have a match and I’m the last sort of thing you want to deal with.”

Krum eyed him for a moment. “You can stay ‘til they be leaving.” Then, he himself walked through an opening and disappeared.

“Well,” Loki remarked as he came up to Harry. “Fame seems to only get you so far. Breeding, for instance, cannot be earned on the Qudditch pitch.”

“You were Quidditch Captain,” Harry reminded him. “I played Quidditch. I’m trying out for Quodpot this year just to make Aldric squirm every time he faces against me.”

“Yes, your other suitor,” Loki stated dryly, clearly not liking the reminder of the President of MACUSA’s son.

Harry turned to him and placed a hand over Loki’s heart, which Loki instantly claimed with his own. “He was kind to me and I wanted—it won’t make sense. I wanted to be wanted for me and not for the other things that go along with being my mother’s son or my father’s heir. But you made my heart stop as soon as I laid eyes on you.”

Loki smirked. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“Why did you approach me?” Harry asked carefully. 

For a moment, Loki was quiet. “I wanted to see if your eyes would darken after I snogged you. You were the height of refinement and pureblood elegance. Americans only play at it—but you possessed it in your very being, just standing there and looking at me. I suppose we can blame it on you being brought up in Surrey.”

“I suppose we can,” Harry agreed. “Tony still hates you.”

This seemed to secretly please Loki. “It’s only because he loves you so much. You’re his precious son whom he lost for thirteen years. Those are years he’ll never get back and I think he knows I plan on stealing you away as soon as you will let me.”

Harry sighed, not in disappointment or contentment. Just simply in being. “Not to England,” he begged despite himself. “Norway.”

“Not to England,” Loki agreed.

  
… … … … …  


Draco Malfoy, at first, thought he was seeing things. Harry Potter had been removed from Hogwarts by his filthy Muggle of an Aunt and stashed away somewhere that no one could find him. Not even his father could find out what had happened, and he was a school governor. All that was known is that the correct paperwork had been filed and sealed.

But there he was entering the stadium with—was that Lord Loki Odinson?

A sliver of memory slipped into his head—as if Loki Odinson had once been studying in the Slytherin Common Room—and then it was as natural as if he had seen it happening all throughout his first year.

Odinson was a god in Slytherin House. He was absolutely legendary on the Quidditch Pitch, beating out Charlie Weasley all but one game in his entire career!

“Father—” Draco hesitantly asked as he made his way into the Top Box with his two parents and his sister Lacerta. Iolanthe was too young and had been left at home with a distant Malfoy cousin. “Did you know Lord Loki Odinson was going to be here?”

“Yes,” Lucius answered as he ushered his children in. “He’s courting an American wizard and brought him along to the World Cup as a treat.”

“American?” Narcissa asked, a little confused. “It’s not like the Odinsons or the Norwegians in general to go to the colonies for a potential bonded—”

“No one knows the whole story,” Lucius confided. “I just heard that Odinson went over on an errand and came back besotted.”

Then, strangely, Draco thought he saw Harry again. There were huge screens that followed the Quidditch players throughout the game and once Krum caught the snitch (but lost the game), he flew into the stands and approached—Harry Potter. Who didn’t have a scar.

Of course, you’d have to have known Harry Potter quite well to have recognized him. He must have grown and his face had become more chiseled. Still, there was that same quality. Did Draco mention that Harry wasn’t wearing his glasses which just changed the dynamics of his face drastically?

Harry looked surprised when Krum came near him and held out the Golden Snitch. After looking to the side at a person who wasn’t shown on screen, he took the snitch and then folding one arm over his chest and extending the other to the side, he bowed formally.

The Quidditch pitch went eerily silent.

Then someone screamed out, “Anthony, Jr., will you marry me?” She must have cast a sonorous charm on herself. “We can have wizarding babies!”

Immediately Harry looked up, his eyebrows crossed, before he looked at Krum and then over again to the side. Draco saw him mouth the word, “babies,” in obvious confusion.

The screen cut and Draco looked over to his father, who was staring quite pointedly at the place where the image had been projected by magic. “Is that who I think it was?” he asked no one in particular.

“Where’s his scar?” Draco answered in obvious confusion.

  
… … … … …  


Harry did not want to go out that night with the other Slytherins. He was terrified of the American Muggleborns. His entire potential status as a pureblood in the United States was being compromised by silly witches who wanted to have his children.

They didn’t have butterbeer in America and so Loki had stocked the refrigerator with it and Harry sat on the kitchen counter, just staring at the Snitch sitting beside him.

Loki came in and tilted up an eyebrow. “Should I be worried?”

“It’s not alcohol,” Harry immediately offered. “I’m not allowed to drink alone and only in moderation.”

Sauntering up and running a hand down Harry’s neck, Loki sighed. “You’re a young pureblood wizard. You’re allowed a glass of firewhiskey, but that’s not what I was talking about.” He picked up the snitch and tried to laugh. “I thought he was going to kill you with some sort of unknown Eastern Magic with the intensity of his glower.”

A smile crooked Harry’s mouth. “It was odd, wasn’t it? Krum barely spoke a word to us and then—” He shrugged. “It’s something to show my children, I suppose. My dad will try to make a mechanical version, too. He’s such a kid sometimes.”

“I suppose,” Loki agreed, inserting himself between Harry’s legs. “I think you need to be reminded how unimportant those Americans are and Quidditch stars who have hooked noses and slouch unbecomingly on land.”

Harry laughed. “Really, Lord Loki?” Still holding the bottle of butterbeer, he hooked his hands around Loki’s neck and looked up into his expressive blue eyes.

He knew, even from knowing Loki for such a short time, that Loki tried to hide his emotions behind slyness and mischief. There was something about an older brother who got all the recognition.

Both he and Harry were renegades in their way, aspiring to pureblood culture for different reasons, both belonging and yet not belonging in entirely different ways. Harry almost thought that Loki should find a pureblood witch of impeccable birth—but if Loki was one thing, he was decisive. He had decided he wanted Harry and so he had Harry, and he treasured him all the more for it.

Soft looks became soft touches before lips gently met lips and Harry was lost in the sensation of being with his boyfriend.

When the butterbeer bottle dropped and smashed on the floor, neither really noticed.

  
… … … … …  


Tony was in his Malibu mansion just eating a pizza (and drinking far too much alcohol) when Pepper was announced.

“No Anthony, Jr., I see,” she commented as she put aside her purse. She had nothing else on her. Why on earth was Pepper here then?

“He’s in England,” Tony explained lazily. “Some sort of sports tournament. His boyfriend had tickets.” Looking into his glass, he then inhaled it. There was no one to see. No one of importance. And he was dying with no one to leave his kid to.

Pepper raised her eyebrow. “I thought that business was done with. Natalie said something about Anthony, Jr.’s plans changing that day when that Aldric boy stood him up.”

Laughing, Tony didn’t bother to look at her even though she was devouring him with his eyes. “Pep, he’s my son. Do you honestly think he’s going to stay single for long if he has other ideas on the matter?” He took up another piece of pizza and a swig of his beer. “Lord Loki is a ponce, but he cares for Anthony, Jr. and seems to hate the fact that I’m a well-known figure, so he’s not after my money.”

Sitting down across from him, smoothing out her—were those skinny jeans?—Pepper took a slice of pizza. “And you let Anthony, Jr. go with him?”

“Anthony, Jr. is an aficionado and apparently the event has been sold out for years. I trust my kid, and I sufficiently threatened Lord Loki.”

“What of his parents?”

The names Odin and Frigga ran through his mind, along with Thor, but Tony pushed them out quickly, just as he was supposed to. But that was just it, wasn’t it? Whoever Lord Loki’s parents were, he was an adult. An adult to choose, an adult with his own responsibilities.

“Why are you here, Pep? I know it’s not to make me sign something.” Tony was frankly in an interesting mood. He wished that he could get JARVIS to tap a feed of the tournament—he’d been trying since Harry left yesterday—

It was then that the AI called to him. “Sir, you need to see this. It is confidential.”  
Tony was immediately up on his feet and in his private office where he watched the end of a game where there were figures on a broom and then this brooding figure—that was Anthony, Jr. Tony’s blood ran cold when someone shouted out that they wanted to have his son’s babies. It had started then.

“There are no TV stations to hack,” he checked.

“Affirmative, Sir,” JARVIS told him. “There is only the wizarding wireless which can only be picked up by certain magically altered devices.”

Tony swore. He’d have to go out and get one that summer so he could listen in. He ran a hand down his face and when he finally emerged it was to find a high heel in front of the door. A few steps away was a tanktop, beginning a trail toward the private part of the mansion.

He was going to have to change his security clearances.

  
… … … … …  


Loki changed into casual wizarding black, which brought out his chiseled features and his magic green eyes. He was in the shower room, which didn’t have a mirror, having left the bathroom to Harry in case he needed it. He came out and looked around only to find that Harry still seemed to be in the bathroom. He wondered why.

About three minutes later, Harry emerged with kohl around his eyes. 

It was certainly a surprising look, one rarely seen out of the Near East, and certainly never in Asgard. “Are you come straight from a harem into my dreams?” Loki teased.

Harry blushed. “It’s all the rage in America—I thought I’d just represent.”

Coming up to him, Loki took him in his arms and kissed his clear forehead before tucking his face underneath his chin. “Represent,” he told him. “I think I’m going to have to use an Unforgivable on anyone who looks at you too long with that transparent shirt.” He’d just have to remember to use his dummy wand and make the spell looking like a Midgardian one. Oh, and say the words. He’d need to remember to say the words. Ridiculous wizards and their mortal limitations.

“I’m wearing a waistcoat!”

“Barely,” Loki jested, his voice a drawl. “Come on, Anthony, Jr. Let’s go perpetrate a fraud worthy of only Slytherins.”—The both of them: a prince of Asgard and a Muggle entrepreneur’s half-blood son.

  
… … … … …  


Aldric Weathercrest had gotten his seat at the Quidditch World Cup just twenty-four hours before the match. His older brother Aloysius fell ill and his mate Jeremy said it was all right if he tagged along. It could have gone to someone else, but, of course, courting President Nathaniel Weathercrest was always important to those trying to skate around the excise duties.

He thought he had heard wrong when whispers went around the American part of the camp that Anthony Stark, Jr. was there. Some witches were giggling together, talking about how handsome he was, and how wealthy, and could they believe that he was a wizard? More and more wizards came through, talking of Anthony, Jr. instead of Krum or Quidditch in general.

Then he was everywhere at the end of the match. His face was blown up, surprised and confused—and Aldric felt a kick in his gut. He had let his father bully him into giving Anthony, Jr. up. He wasn’t into blood politics like the rest of the Weathercrest family. He knew how dangerous the Salem witch trails were, how earth witches were sacrificed on plantations during the time of slavery. 

Anthony, Jr. was sweet, smart, and just wanted to live his life in a way that wouldn’t beg apology to anyone. He didn’t care if people thought he was a bit too posh because his mother was British. He wanted his father’s approval, which was apparent in every letter he wrote in the corners of the school. He would be himself—neither quite fully British anymore, never American despite whoever his father was (though most thought that Stark Sr. was a British wizard who had emigrated to America). He wanted to soak up magic, you had to drag him away from his Arithmancy—

And now he was gone.

The thought gutted Aldric in a way he hadn’t thought it would.

“Who is that?” someone whispered to him.

“A boy at my school,” he answered, knowing he could claim nothing else. “I didn’t know he was coming.”

The camera flickered for a moment and it showed Anthony Jr. looking up at a wizard in traditional British wizarding shirtsleeves and waistcoat, his black hair smooth to his chin as his green eyes shone mischievously from his face. They were whispering together as this mystery wizard held the snitch before handing it back to Anthony, Jr., who looked back adoringly.

The screen flicked black again.

Anthony, Jr. was once again gone.

… … … … …  


The Dark Mark lit up the sky and Loki looked up at it in shock. His arm was around Harry, who was sipping on a spiked licorne lemonade. There were screams somewhere else in the camp and he was quickly on his feet, pulling Harry with him and heading away from the screams. He didn’t look back at the other Slytherins. He wouldn’t be surprised if someone had known about it which was why the fire had been so well contained and the amount of alcohol consumed surprisingly small. 

He felt Harry pause and saw him looking up at the Muggles who were being suspended in air.

“How can they—?”

“Not here,” Loki begged before he began to hurry Harry away from the commotion. He could get involved—he could—but he had a strict policy of not getting overly noticed when on Midgard. Odin AllFather would just punish him when he returned back to Asgard.

They breached the line of trees and then turned back, looking at the camp and the chaos there. Loki looked over to see Heir Draco Malfoy and he nodded his head. They had been at the bonfire together, Malfoy withdrawn and his eyes on Harry, taking in his every move.

Malfoy nodded back.

Some children came through, but Loki and Harry continued to look out. When it was finally quiet, Malfoy asked quietly, “Are you happy? In America?”

“Tell Snape,” he answered after a moment, “that I found Anthony, Sr.”

Not another word was spoken for the rest of the night.


End file.
